When Worlds Shatter
by Rekka Alexiel
Summary: When a deadly disease mysteriously resurfaces the day after Peter and Olivia's night out for drinks, it's a race against time to find the cure. Moderate P/O
1. Chapter 1: Infection and the Delusion

**Fringe: When Worlds Shatter**

**Part 1: The Path Through the Storm**

**Chapter 1: Infection and the Delusion**

It was 8:00am when Peter arose in the morning and pushed the brown curtains apart to let the Sunday morning sun in through the windows of his second-story room. As the light poured in, he squinted painfully as his head throbbed in tune with his beating heart. _Maybe I had a little too much to drink last night_, he thought. _When does that ever happen?_ He never had any problem drinking before, usually _never_ got to the drunk stage, but the way his stomach felt now and how the light effected his head, he assumed it was just a typical hangover. Standing next to the window as the morning light washed over him, he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the scratchy feeling. It was just dry in the house.

Then again, this was always how it started, catching a cold. It always began with a sore throat, and then the runny nose and sneezing would be next. Maybe if he denied it hard enough and long enough, he wouldn't get sick and it would just go away. Then again, ignoring a problem never solves it.

"Just great," he said to himself as he pulled the curtains closed again. He turned around and debated simply going back to sleep. It was Sunday, after all, the only day he could sleep in if he wanted. Yet, the rolling feeling in his stomach killed that thought right there. No, Walter would be worried if he did that. It was just a hangover, nothing to worry about. Besides, someone had to look after Walter. If he didn't, who would? Walter was his responsibility and he wasn't about to go back on his word now.

Rather than wrapping himself in the comfort of his blankets for the rest of the day, he stepped wearily to his bedroom door and quietly opened it, careful not to wake Walter downstairs in case he was still sleeping. With a hand on the railing, he slowly stepped down the flight of stairs, every inch of him aching. He peeked his head around the corner into Walter's "room" but he was no longer there. The only other possible place he could be was in the kitchen, that is, if he hadn't "stepped out for a walk in the brisk, morning air" again. He ended up clear across town the last time, although, thankfully Peter was able to hunt him down without needing to call the police for assistance.

And that's when the hint of cooking bacon nearly bent him in half. Normally, it would have been a pleasant smell, but not today. Walter could have been grilling tar for all he knew as waves of nausea swept through him. Clearing his throat again, he continued his way into the kitchen.

Sure enough, there was Walter, working his magic over a hot stove. He was wearing a ridiculous chef's hat that could have been two feet tall. It easily brushed against the top awning over the stove when he looked down at his masterpiece bacon sizzling in gobs of jumping oil. But the hat alone was not what caught Peter's attention, it was the apron he wore, if in fact it was an apron. It was pink and fluffy like a bathroom rug. The strings he used to tie whatever-it-was around him looked like an old, worn out winter scarf. No, strike that. It was a pair of his black long johns.

_Ah, yes. This is my father._

Peter swallowed hard and coughed, stealing Walter's attention away from the stovetop, as he reached up to retrieve a glass from the overhead cabinet off to the left of the stove. "Ah, Peter! You're up 'n at 'em early today. I thought I would make you a healthy breakfast this morning. You must be tired after last night, right?"

He ignored Walter's never waning innuendos, although not without a slight bend in the corner of his mouth. Peter filled his glass with tap water from the sink while glancing at the bacon swimming in the frying pan. "How can cooking bacon in all that oil be healthy, Walter?"

"It's meat, isn't it? Protein: Does a body good!"

"Don't you mean 'milk'? It's—"

"—Blueberry pancakes!" he said ecstatically, holding a plate with a stack of five pancakes out to Peter. When he responded with little more than an apologetic tilt of his head, Walter added, "They were your favorite."

"Sorry, Walter. I think I'm going to skip breakfast this morning."

"Oh? Had a little too much to drink? You know, I never heard you come in last night…"

Peter grinned. Walter was obviously referring to the so-called "date" he had with Olivia. It had been an odd night, one of awkward pauses and glances, but once they downed a few drinks, things seemed to go better. "We weren't out that late," Peter said, but nothing he could say could tear the giddy 'there _is_ a god!' smile from his father's face. "Before she left, Astrid said you managed to fall asleep in the middle of playing Monopoly? Now, why can't that ever happen to me?"

"Because I value your company much more than hers," he said honestly. "Oh, I'm sorry. That must have sounded a little inconsiderate. Please don't tell her."

"That's okay, Walter," Peter grinned again. "I'm sure everyone already knows." Stiffly walking over to the kitchen table, Peter sat himself down with a loud sigh. "Did Olivia seem strange to you last night? Before we went out?"

Walter hesitated. "Strange? No, why do you ask?"

It didn't make any sense to him, her sudden look of despair. That night, when Peter opened the door to welcome Olivia into their house briefly before they went out for drinks, she looked so happy, her hair stylishly hanging low over her shoulders that seemed to complement her tight fitting leather jacket. The air about her suggested only excitement and possibly a little anticipation, but just as she stepped over the threshold and into the living room, something shattered in her eyes.

Peter didn't notice it right away, maybe because of his own anticipation of the evening out, but the moment they stepped out and began the short walk down the road to the restaurant, the awkwardness between them seemed to scream bloody murder at him. Olivia was quiet, and she avoided looking at him altogether. After the hellish day both of them went through, it could have simply been exhaustion getting the best of her. Or, as Peter feared, it was that tense, close moment they shared together.

What was the real reason she pulled away? He hoped it was the urgency of an entire building full of innocent people vanishing, ripped from this world to slam at full force into the other, but what if she didn't feel the same? He wasn't even sure what he was feeling; he had never so intensely felt the tingly sensation prickle across his skin, or feel the sudden dryness in his mouth as though nervous about something. But that sad look in her eyes faded as the night went on, much to Peter's relief. Maybe she was just feeling awkward about going out on a semi-date, maybe something reminded her of John even.

Peter shook his head. "It's nothing." He could feel the pain in his head slosh back and forth at the motion like a water balloon was loose in his head.

Ignoring the question altogether, Walter placed the plate of pancakes on the table in front of Peter before he turned to drain the excess oil from the bacon.

Peter starred down at the pancakes and noticed that Walter tried to make a smiley face with the blueberries. It was so childish, it was cute, and Peter couldn't hold back a grin even though he had just gotten finished saying he was going to skip breakfast. It was such a waste, he thought.

Then the next moment the kitchen phone hanging on the wall next to the sink rang.

Flinching at the high pitched ringing sound, Peter looked down as he placed a hand over his forehead. "Can you get that?"

Walter didn't notice Peter's reaction to the phone when he stepped over to answer it on his own. Picking up the receiver, he said, glowing, "Good Sunday morning, whomever you are."

_What a way to answer the phone_, Peter thought.

"Ah, Agent Farnsworth. Let me first tell you how much I appreciate you coming over to play games with me last night. From the look of it, both Peter and Olivia enjoyed the night thoroughly."

"Walter…" Peter said, knowing he ought to take the phone away from his father and find the reason for Astrid to call; he just couldn't get himself to stand.

"What may I do for you this fine morning?" Walter continued on with the conversation. He was quiet for a while and seemed to be thinking hard because his eyes turned up and nearly out of his head. "I could do better than that, Agent Farnsworth. I can show you exactly where I stumbled upon them; that is, if I can manage to get lost again." Another pause and a couple dance steps later, Walter turned to Peter and asked, "Peter, Agent Farnsworth wishes to locate that place for the most delicious apple fritters that I found before. Could I go with her to find it? I could bring you back some."

What perfect timing, Peter thought. Anything to get some peace and quiet in the house. Maybe then he could kick this sick feeling he had. "Sure, Walter," he said. "You don't need to hurry, either. As long as you stay with Astrid and do as she says, maybe you could go out shopping afterward or something."

Before turning away from Peter, he began another embarrassing dance as he talked into the phone. "He said OK! When can you be here? Excellent. I'll get dressed. Bye-bye." In one swift motion, Walter hung up the receiver and bounced his way out of the room. He stopped short when he noticed a flushed look on Peter's face. "Are you feeling well, son?"

"Just a slight hangover, Walter," Peter smiled at the old man, thinking how ridiculous it sounded. He hadn't verbally said the world "hangover" to refer to himself since he was a teenager. "I'll just sleep it off while you're out."

Walter nodded in understanding and continued out of the room.

Only thing was Peter was beginning to doubt that this was an actual hangover. The scratchy feeling in his throat was hot and irritating, painful to swallow even. He coughed a few times to get rid of the feeling, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. Of all times, he could not get sick now.

Sullenly sitting at the table, the stack of hot-off-the-skillet pancakes smiled up at him with the putrid scent of cooked bacon churning his stomach by just breathing it in, Peter decided he couldn't sit there any more. Standing to his feet, he took a couple steps out of the kitchen to head back upstairs, but his head started pounding like miniature bombs were exploding inside so severely that he lost his footing on the first few steps on the staircase. If he hadn't grabbed the railing in time he would have easily toppled backward. Self-consciously, he peered back toward Walter's "room" to be sure he hadn't seen him lose his balance. When he couldn't spot his father, Peter shook his head to clear the confusion from billowing round and round in his eyes.

As Peter continued up the stairs with angry footfalls, he thought, _This is NOT a hangover…_

*****

Around 11:00am, Peter awoke with his skin on fire and sweat rolling down his face. He was lying on his bed with all the blankets kicked to the floor. As he tried to prop himself up, something erupted in his stomach and pushed its way up into his mouth. Holding the urge to vomit right there in bed, he jumped to his feet while ignoring his blurred vision, and let himself go as he hugged the toilet. After three or four consistent rounds of vomiting, he sat up to catch his breath, wishing that was the end of it.

It was then did he realize that he was shaking, shivering as though the air conditioning was on full blast in the house even though his skin was burning up. If he needed further proof, this was it. This was SO not a hangover…

Reaching up to the handle on the side of the toilet, he flushed the putridness away. The moment he tried to get to his feet, however, another wave of heat passed over him as he doubled over the side of the toilet again, emptying all contents from his stomach, even if nothing was there.

It was so disgusting and the after taste it left in his mouth was sickening. He thought that alone would cause him to puke his life away. Spitting the last bit of nastiness from his mouth, he again flushed the toilet, this time praying that would be the end.

Maybe he caught the flu or something from someone. He was with Olivia, Walter and everyone the day before, but none of them were sick. Where could he have picked it up? And why so sudden? He felt fine last night. He only started feeling crappy this morning, only a couple hours ago. Still shivering uncontrollably, he tried standing a second time, his muscles aching painfully as he made his way down the hallway back to his room. His bed and warm blankets strewn on the floor called out for him, beckoned him to wrap himself in them like a caterpillar making a cocoon. He reached down and picked up the blankets off the floor and buried himself under them while propping himself up on the bed with multiple pillows behind him. As he started to settle down, back to sleep, he felt an uncomfortable weight on his chest. But he was too tired to think or worry about it more. Within ten minutes, he was gone from this world again.

*****

Walter didn't return home until after 3:00pm, thoroughly stuffed with apple fritters. He entered the house almost as giddy as he had left, bouncing from room to room in search for Peter so he could tell him every last detail of his exciting day out.

When he walked into the kitchen and saw the smiley pancakes still out on the table, he frowned sadly. _Had he not eaten all day?_ Walter thought. He picked up the plate and wrapped it with plastic before placing them in the refrigerator.

Next, he took off up the flight of stairs and proceeded down the hallway to Peter's room. Quietly pushing it open, he stepped into the dark room, noticing a strange and very unpleasant smell. Without turning on the light, he noticed there was a lump of someone sleeping in the bed and he suddenly had a flashback—the image of a young Peter in bed, the little boy whom he had kidnapped 25 years ago.

Stepping closer to the bed, Walter looked down at his grown son. His heart skipped a beat when he could not see Peter breathing. He quickly reached over to the lamp next to the bed and turned it on to get a better look at him. The sight of Peter's sweat soaked face and hair dashed his happy spirits. He put a hand on Peter's forehead. His skin was very hot, easily running a temperature—a high one. How long had he been like this? If he couldn't lower the fever soon…

"Peter?" Walter said, tapping the side of Peter's face to try and awaken him. "Peter, wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up, son."

Gradually, Peter began to come around, blinking his lazy eyes many times before he could see. "Daddy…? Is that you?"

The name cut through Walter. Peter hadn't called him "daddy" in years—not since…

"Yes, Peter. It's me. Now, Peter, you have to think for me. You need to tell me exactly how you feel."

Peter crunched up his face, seemingly not understanding why Walter couldn't know how he felt just by looking at him, or maybe thinking at all hurt his head. "It's the plague, daddy. I caught it from someone. I don't know who… Maybe that building…"

The building that came from the other universe that carried the people inside along with it… That couldn't have any connection. Peter was from the other side…he wouldn't get sick because—

But what if it was fate? Walter's true son Peter died of a rare disease called Hepea, much like the bird flu. What if this was fate's way of correcting the annomoly of having two Peter's in the same reality. It gave Peter 25 years to live his life as he saw fit before demanding it back.

Frightened, hands shaking, Walter ran from the room, leaving a delirious Peter behind calling for him. "Daddy…?"


	2. Chapter 2: The Abduction and Confusion

**Chapter 2: The Abduction and Confusion**

Olivia didn't receive the phone call about Peter's sudden illness until well after 4:00pm. She had spent the leisurely morning mostly in bed, the rest sipping on coffee while watching nothing special on TV. Both Rachel and Ella had moved into their new townhouse on the other side town a couple months ago, but it still felt weird to be the only one in the house—alone amongst silent walls. It was very uncomfortable at first, but maybe she was getting used to it. At least that's what she told herself to believe.

Yesterday was a day unlike any other, a walk through a distant past, both foreign and frightening, and to the very brink of this universe. She was tired to say the least. More than anything else, however, she felt distraught. She had seen the glimmer of the building about to be sucked to the alternate universe and saved hundreds of lives in the process, but her newly awakened ability seemed to destroy her own. She had seen it—that shimmering light dancing all over him, Peter… How she hoped it was her imagination, still she knew it was true… Walter confirmed it when he pleaded for her not to say anything. And that evening out was beyond difficult to pretend that nothing was wrong. Should she tell Peter the truth? He had every right to know and yet what good would it do? What if he left after he found out the truth? What then? Olivia was trapped. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

But then the call came while she sipped on a warm vanilla latte in her favorite butterfly mug.

"Agent Dunham," she said officially, even though she was off duty today.

"He's sick, Olivia. It's happening again. I don't know if he'll make it this time."

It was Walter, she knew, but what was he saying? He couldn't be talking about Peter; she had just been with him last night and he was fine. "Walter, slow down. What happened?"

"I went out with Agent Farnsworth for some apple fritters and when I came home, Peter was barely conscious, completely delirious—he called me 'daddy.'"

Olivia couldn't follow him well but with the last statement she knew something was very wrong. She never imagined Peter to ever call Walter by that name.

"Okay, Walter, listen," she said, trying to steady her own voice. "Where are you now? I'll come over and—"

"Mass General. Olivia, please… I don't know what to do," he sobbed.

Massachusetts General Hospital? Dear God, whatever must be going on, it must be serious if Peter was already taken to the hospital…

"I'll be right there."

*****

The whole way to the hospital, Olivia kept thinking of the possibilities of what could have happened. Walter had said Peter was sick—again. Did that mean that he had been sick another time, when he was younger? She never really knew much about his childhood; she just knew that Peter estranged himself from both father and mother of his own accord. His mother died several years ago, a tragic fact that Walter was all but privy to while in the confines of St. Clair's Mental Hospital, no one even bothered to tell him the news, for that matter. But if Peter had gotten sick, he was around Olivia and many other people from the FBI. Did that mean that she, too, was exposed to something? If that was the case, wouldn't Walter have given her some sort of warning or clue? Maybe whatever he had wasn't contagious.

**With her mind taking five steps forward with speculations only to turn around and fall seven steps back, Olivia pulled into the parking lot at** **Massachusetts General Hospital. She stepped quickly out of the car with both keys and cell phone in her hand, tucking them safely into her leather jacket, and made her way into the building. As she approached the receptions desk, she looked anxiously into the blue eyes of the young receptionist with curly brown hair that barely touched her shoulders.**

"**Excuse me, could you tell me which room Peter Bishop was taken to?"**

**The woman nodded and turned to her computer, typing in the name. "It looks like only family are allowed visitation at this time. Are you family?"**

**Olivia grinned painfully as she held up her FBI badge. She admitted her job did come in handy at times. "No, I'm not. I'm here on FBI business." **

**She could have explained further, that Peter was something of a partner to her, a close colleague, someone who she had just gone out to have drinks with the night before, that… Swallowing hard, her hand began to shake nervously as she held up her badge. Although she had felt this coming for sometime, she refused to acknowledge its existence in her heart. Maybe because of her recent betrayal and loss of John Scott, maybe because of all her previous shattered relationships, maybe because of her experience living under the same roof as a wife-beater. She was never very good at serious relationship talk, even if it was with herself. This was the reality of her lonely life in "limbo." **

**The receptionist looked at Olivia's FBI badge and nodded again. "Ah, Agent Dunham, we've been expecting you. The father of the patient told us to be on the look-out for you. Peter Bishop is in room #704, on the seventh floor."**

"**Thank you," Olivia said, placing her badge in the inner pocket of her jacket as she turned around and hurried over to the elevators. She impatiently hit the up arrow button repeatedly as though it would make the elevator come faster. **

**A little girl with crazy black hair meshed all over the place, who stood waiting for the elevators with her mother, stared at Olivia pushing the button as though wondering why she was pushing it so crazily. Olivia didn't notice anyone standing there until she heard the little girl's voice say, "Mama, can I push the button, too?"**

**At the sound of the girl's voice, Olivia turned her head to see the two standing next to her and suddenly felt stupid. What a great example she was setting. **_**Patience, Olivia, relax…**_

"**No, honey," the woman with short, curly black hair said softly. "The button's already been pushed." Olivia imagined her continuing on to say, "It's pointless to keep pressing it once it's been pressed once, sweetheart."**

**At last, the elevator dinged as the two doors opened to a group of young mother's holding their little children. Some sort of mother and baby class must have been going on upstairs or something, Olivia thought. Allowing the group out of the elevator, Olivia stepped into the elevator while putting an arm at the side of the opening to prevent the doors from closing before the other two could enter. **

**The lady with the short black hair didn't say anything directly to her but simply nodded in appreciation when she pressed the number 3 button. Olivia passed the awkward moment by pressing the number 7 button herself as the elevator doors closed and they were slowly lifted upward. Skipping over the 2****nd**** floor, the elevator came to a slow stop at the 3****rd**** floor. Olivia pressed the doors open button as the mother and daughter walked out and on their way down the hall. **

**Finally alone to catch her breath before reaching the 7****th**** floor, she sighed and turned to look at herself in the mirror at the back of the elevator. She almost didn't recognize herself. Her eyes were clouded with anticipation of pending bad news, her heart ached at every beat, and she nervously dug the nail of her index finger into the base of her thumb nail. Too often she would get bloody hangnails from doing that.**

**Staring at her own eyes in the mirror she tried to come to terms with her own emotions. Why was she feeling this way? **_**That's easy**_**, she thought, **_**Peter's my friend. It's only natural to be worried about him.**_** Then what was the cause for the pain in her chest, and why did she dread to find out the truth that waited for her in room #704 so much? As she peered through her green eyes, she could find no tangible answer and yet she knew. She had known for a while…**

**The elevator dinged again loudly, breaking her out of her trance. She looked to see what floor this was, and when the number 7 was illuminated with green light, she quickly darted out of the two doors, nearly running into an old man and woman who were waiting for the elevator. "Sorry," she said without so much of a glance back.**

**Her eyes searched for the sign that would tell her which way down the hall Room #704 was—**_**Ah, there it is!**_** she thought.**_** Down to the right…**_** She dashed on down the hall with no regard to the nurses at the desk who called out to her.**

**Once she came to the room with the number she had been looking for on it, she stood, staring at the name plate that indicated who was admitted within. She read the name over three or more times before taking a deep breath. **_**Is this what it was like for him, when I was in the hospital…?**_** With her heart pounding, she placed a chill hand on the metal doorknob and, turning, pushed the door open.**

**The room inside was dark, the curtains over the large hospital windows tightly pulled shut. The only light in the room was the single, standing lamp that was in the left hand corner next to the window and a cushioned chair. As Olivia stepped further inside, she saw Walter sitting at the side of the bed where Peter lie, using a wet cloth to cool Peter's forehead. Once her eyes fell upon Peter, though, she couldn't take her eyes away from him. Stepping closer, she saw how red his skin looked, soaked with sweat. Although, it could have been the dimly lit room, but she could have sworn he wasn't even breathing.**

_**How could this have happened? He was fine last night… He was fine…**_

**Walter looked up at Olivia as she bent lower over Peter. "The doctors said that he will need to be put on a breathing machine if he doesn't regain a natural rhythm soon."**

_**A breathing machine even…? How could this happen?**_

"**Walter, what happened?" Olivia asked, her forehead creasing deeply between her eyes.**

"**I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I teased him this morning, saying that it was just a hangover. I should have known..."**

**She shook her head as well. "How could you have known, Walter?"**

"**Because that is how my son died."**

**The crease between Olivia's two eyes grew deeper as she scowled at the old man. "What do you mean? Peter isn't your son?"**

**Walter took the wet cloth away from Peter's forehead and held it, almost wringing it, in his hands. "He is Walter Bishop's only child, but he is not **_**my**_** child." He looked back up at Olivia. "Because he is not from **_**here**_**. That is what you saw last night, Olivia. You saw the truth that I've been hiding for the past 25 years."**

"**How, Walter. How can he be both your son and not?" Olivia glared angrily at him, her eyes demanding an answer.**

**Walter, looking 50 years older, sighed and placed the wet cloth on the table beside the bed. As he stood, he avoided direct eye contact with Olivia. "We should talk somewhere else. He may overhear us." With that, Walter walked to and out the door without looking to see if Olivia was following or not.**

Alone in the room, Olivia again looked back at Peter's sweat soaked face. _This is how my son died._ Then how could he be here now? Unless Walter somehow managed to bring the dead back to life or…! The alternate universe. If there truly is more than one of everything, then maybe… Could he have been kidnapped, stolen from his parents, his own world without even realizing it. Olivia shook her head, anger flaring through her entire body. She had to know more, she had to understand _why_ this was happening. Maybe then she could do something to stop it.


	3. Chapter 3: Frustration and the Obsession

Chapter 3: Frustration and the Obsession

**Down the hall, in a warmly lit waiting room with red velvet seating chairs and a large fish tank with bright green and yellow fish swimming aimlessly around and around, Olivia sat in a seat next to Walter, even though she wanted only get away from him, the man who had damaged so many lives, her own included. Nothing could have prepared her for the story of desperation, momentary acceptance, and an unbelievable chance to challenge fate's grasp on reality.**

"**Walter, tell me exactly what's going on here, and no secrets this time!" Olivia said, her skin prickling with anger. "You said…he's not from this world? That's why I saw the glimmer, isn't it? Just like that building…"**

"**Yes, it is true. Although he may be my son in another reality, he is not mine. My son died so many years ago, afflicted with an incurable disease, Hepea. It was a disease thought to be dead; there hadn't been a case of it since 1938. **

"**I was trying desperately to find the cure but I just couldn't connect the dots, solve the riddle. It eluded me no matter how close I might have thought I was getting. If only I could reach out my hand, maybe I could reach the answer, touch the formula that would save my son.**

"**But I couldn't. I was losing him a little every day that went by. And that's when I saw him for the first time, the bald one."**

"**The Observer? So there is some connection…" Olivia said, thinking of the Observer known as August, the last one of their kind that she had seen. It had been strange that Peter was able to use the Observer's weapon when no one else could fire it. Could this be why?**

"**Yes. He told me a way to save him. If I was unsuccessful at discovering a cure, then perhaps I, in another reality, was successful. He told me how to jump to the other universe to retrieve the cure…but before I had the chance to go, it was too late. Peter was gone."**

**Although it was a difficult story for Olivia to hear, it was even harder for Walter to tell, thinking back to those moments that scared and shredded his life, left him with little nothing to hold on to. The way Walter seemed to crack and bleed from simply telling the story of the past, Olivia was certain that he had never told anyone before. He was now only because circumstances forced his hand. If only it wasn't necessary…if only the past could just die…**

"**I was lost without him," Walter said. "I would have done **_**any**_**thing to save him, to get him back. And when my experiments further developed the doorway between this reality and the other, the thought occurred to me. I could go there, to that other universe, and see my son. I became obsessed with the thought of it."**

"**So…" Olivia, her brow still pinched together, "your Peter, the Peter from this reality—our reality—died? He died as a little boy…?" She could feel her own eyes begin to moisten, just as Walter's had been for so long.**

"**Yes, Olivia. I was too late, too inadequate. It was my fault he had to die…"**

"**Then how did he…?" Olivia turned her head to look down the hall, referring to the Peter she had come to care for very deeply.**

"**I lost myself in the sadness," Walter continued. "I became obsessed with correcting my mistakes, and that lead me to develop a much more powerful doorway to the other reality. I took the advice that my observer friend gave me and jumped to the other side, only I did not simply retrieve the cure that I had been searching for. I had to see him, with my own eyes. I had to know that he was alive and would life a full, happy life somewhere; just not with me. **

"**I 'broke' into the house and walked to his room where I found him sleeping soundly. I was only going to watch as he slept, just for a little while, but he woke up and recognized me. What could I do? I talked to him and told him that the snow had stopped long enough for the stars to come out. **

"'**The Pleiades are perfectly in view tonight,' I told him. 'Don't you want to see?' He smiled up at me and asked if mom would yell at him for going out in the cold at night. I said, 'No, son. It will be our little secret.'**

"**Little did he know I had no intention of showing him the stars. I led him back to the spot where I had stepped through the doorway and, holding his hand, I took him through with me."**

**There was so much Olivia wanted to say but it was too sad, all around that it was difficult to take sides. Walter had lost his only son and was grieving. He never planned to kidnap the alter-Peter; it just happened, she could see that. But still that did not justify his criminal act—kidnapping his own son! How did the other Walter and Peter's mother feel? For all they knew, their son simply vanished one night, never to be seen again. Didn't they deserve answers, too?**

**But before Olivia had the chance to even open her mouth to speak, Walter continued. "I brought Peter home and back into bed. He never knew any difference, that it was not his bed, not his room, that I was not his father."**

**The moisture in Walter's eyes was clearly visible in the warm light of the waiting room. Why did any of this have to happen? Why did there have to be such pain and sorrow in the world? If there was anything she could do to stop these things from happening—stop the eternity of heartache, she'd do it, and she knew then that Walter felt the same. That is why he did what he did, giving in to his most inner flaws and humanistic imperfections.**

**Breaking the tension built up from years of hidden anguish, Olivia said, "So why is he sick now? Why all of a sudden? He was fine last night."**

**Walter shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I only fear that this is my punishment for what I did. I know it was wrong…but he doesn't deserve to suffer for my mistakes. How can God be that cruel…?"**

"**Oh, Walter," Olivia said, shocked at the sound of pity in her own voice. "Who said it was God? There has to be a logical explanation and solution to this. I won't let him die a second time, I promise," her voice cracked as a tear fell from her bright, green eyes that seemed aflame with inner resolve and pure determination.**

**Walter smiled, reaching out to rest his hands upon Olivia's in appreciation. After all the lies and betrayal, she was still there, on their side. He smiled at the thought that he was right about her, about the both of them. Maybe someday he would see Peter wear that purple tux…someday.**

**Brushing away the tear, Olivia cleared her throat. "So now we know the truth. What do we do next?"**

"**Peter needs the cure, the one I was so near to discovering before I lost him the first time."**

"**Can you replicate your work from back then?"**

"**Yes, it may be possible to pick up from where I was with my research, but it will be too late for Peter—again. Time is against us, Olivia, even as we speak. No, what I need—what Peter needs—is the cure, now!"**

"**How can we do that, Walter? You are the only one who can make it, aren't you?"**

"**Yes, that is true, but I cannot do it. Olivia, you need to find the cure on the other side and retrieve it for Peter."**

"**Me? I don't understand. How can I find it?"**

"**Because you can cross over to the other side as effortlessly as stepping outside. You can go there, find the cure, and bring it back with you in time to save Peter's life. I'm afraid he does not have three days left, Olivia… Not without the cure…"**

**The cure, the cure, the cure… The words swam around her head, making her dizzy and confused. How could she possibly cross over to the other side? She only just began to see objects—and people—from the other side. Wouldn't physically going there require more experience, more advanced skills than she currently possessed? How dare Walter throw this upon her shoulders—This was his mess, why did she have to be the one to clean up after him?**

**Quickly getting to her feet, frustration boiling beneath her skin, Olivia turned away from Walter. She only turned back around to face him when several nurses went running past the waiting room and down the hall. Her heart skilled a beat as both she and Walter quickly followed them to Room #704, Peter's room.**

**Colored lights were flashing on a monitor that stood next to Peter's side, displaying his heart and respiratory rate, the latter nearly registering zero.**

"**He's not breathing," Walter stated blandly as the nurses began CPR. It was just as he feared. Peter was quickly falling under the waves of a cruel fate that Walter tried so hard to change. But now there was little he could do but stand by and watch as his only son was taken away from him a second time.**


	4. Chapter 4: The Reflection and Decision

**Chapter 4: The Reflection and Decision**

He was such a rude, inconsiderate ass the first time she had met him in Iraq when she went to plead for his help in reaching the committed Walter Bishop almost two years ago now. But that outward appearance and attitude was just a mask he learned to wear to shield himself from caring, from hurting. There was so much to his story that she didn't know, so much of herself she wanted to share with him.

But Peter had stayed, despite the risks he faced by staying. Whether he stayed for Walter, to find the answers of his life, for a deeper pull in his guarded heart that had been left untouched for so long, she didn't know. Whatever the true reason was, Olivia was thoroughly glad he had stayed. It was those long, boring moments of digging through piles upon piles of paperwork, those long hours flying across country, those long nights driving through the middle of nowhere together that made her feel like she had gotten to know him. Because there he was, deeply planted in her heart and mind so firmly that nothing could free her from the anguish that gripped her whole being at the sight of the endotracheal tube tapped to his mouth. The sound it made was so unnatural, so forced, it was painful to watch. In and out the machine forcefully pushed the air into his lungs, as though squealing, "You shall live" with flow of air.

Alone in the room, Olivia sat beside Peter, leaning over the sidebar to take his hand. It was cold, almost lifeless and without any reactionary sign to her touch. It was almost as though he was already gone, and the fear it conjured deep in her soul paralyzed her. What could she do? Was there nothing she could do to save him? Walter had said Peter's only hope would be if Olivia could cross over to the other side to retrieve the cure alter-Walter was successful in making. How could he even be certain that there was a cure over there? And how could she travel to that place she had only just witnessed yesterday for the first time? And yet she wished she knew how, how to merely take a step and be in that other place—just like she had done when she saw Broyles' office and the other Charlie with a scar down the side of his face. It happened so easily then, maybe it was possible.

Sitting there, holding Peter's still hand, she had a feeling that although Peter was completely unconscious, she felt like he was there, whispering words of encouragement to her, telling her to keep fighting, to not give up—to not give up on him. He didn't want to die, not like this, not now. Especially when the future began to look so prosperous. He was happy in this new life in Boston with his father, Olivia, and the others of the Fringe Division. He had only just begun his journey back to a real life, back to discovering himself to have it stolen away. Was God that cruel? Why would he dangle the one thing you've wanted all your life in front of your face, allow you to find it, have it long enough to wonder if it could be true only to take it away in the end? It was the cruelest form of torture, and Olivia could feel the same.

Giving Peter's hand a final squeeze, she stood and with the pulsating sounds of the breathing machine, she stepped from the room, a hand clutching the shirt at her chest.

*****

Walter was sitting in the waiting room, silently staring at the saltwater fish swimming around the tank. He was quickly digging a hole to hide in, to burry his fear and pain—perhaps it was his own grave. As Olivia sat in a chair to Walter's left, she placed a hand on his shoulder, although he gave no impression that he knew she was there. Maybe he was already dead and buried inside to notice.

But then he opened his mouth to speak. "The doctors came to ask if I wanted to stop life support. They said they are unable to make an accurate diagnosis in order to cure Peter's illness. They gave him two days, even on life support," he said, his eyes still locked on the fish as a single tear fell from his left eye.

Two days on life support? How could such an illness kill you so quickly, even with advanced technology to keep you alive? The thought of merely standing by as Peter died ripped her apart inside, and like a frightened little girl, Olivia fell into Walter's arms, both seeking shelter from the pain, release from the anguish.

They sat there for many moments until Olivia opened her eyes and saw black and white angelfish swimming around in the tank. Freshwater angelfish. She blinked back the fog in her eyes and freeing herself from Walter's clingy hands, she peered into the tank. Only a moment ago there had been green and yellow saltwater fish inside the tank; not only were they different fish now, but they were an entirely different type of fish.

Then her eyes went past the fish in the tank and through it to the other side of the waiting room.

"Walter, I can see it, right here, on the other side of the tank," Olivia said. It was an unfamiliar, cold hospital waiting room with blue velvet cushioned chairs. Without regard to Walter, Olivia slowly walked to the other side of the room, bending over to feel the soft texture of one of the blue chairs with a slightly shaking hand. It was real, she could touch it just as any other tangible object even though she felt like she was suddenly swallowed up in a demented nightmare. The thought occurred to her that this was no longer her world. She had somehow slipped to the other side again, perhaps by accident, perhaps from the fear.

She turned back toward the hallway she had come from with a single thought—Peter. She ran down the hall, past the nurses' station and stopped at Room #704. He wouldn't be there, she knew, but something forced her, pushed her from behind. As she opened the door and stepped inside the dark room, she felt the side of the wall for the light switch but could find none. The curtain over the windows was parted just enough to let some light into the room, illuminating a figure in the bed. Stepping closer, she could see it was not Peter in that hospital bed. Although her eyes were not yet adjusted to the dim light, she could see the soft contours of a woman with a similar breathing devise taped unceremoniously to her pale face with long blonde hair hanging lifelessly at her shoulders. Olivia's heart pounded rapidly in her chest. She knew that if that woman would open her eyes, they would be bright green—the same as her own. This was her, the other Olivia Dunham.

Shock gripping around her neck, she stumbled backward in the dark hospital room, unable to breathe until something grabbed her shoulders, shaking her back to reality. It was Walter, peering into her green eyes as though looking through a clear window. Gasping, Olivia tried to focus her eyes, her head whirling with an uncomfortable feeling that could only be motion sickness. As her eyes focused, she took in her surroundings and discovered she was standing before Peter's hospital bed, the breathing machine whizzing and whirling as it filled his lungs with air. He hadn't been there just a second ago—it was her in that bed, not Peter. She was the one with the breathing machine commanding her body to live. But it wouldn't last forever, because without the cure soon, she would die.

"Walter, I was there, in that other place. But he wasn't there," she said, pointing at Peter.

"Of course not, Olivia. He wouldn't be there because he is here, with us."

"No, it was me in that bed, I was there, with the breathing machine."

"You were there? Actually you or the other you?"

"I was looking down at her," Olivia said frantically, ignoring Walter's question. "It was me in Peter's place."

Walter's eyes fell to the floor as he took a step away from her, suddenly realizing something that almost devastated him more than the thought of losing his son a second time. "This won't work," he said at last.

"What do you mean? What won't work?"

Looking back into Olivia's eyes, he answered, "Even if you go back to that place, find the cure and bring it back to save Peter's life, you will die. If you are indeed correct with what you saw, it is you who is inflicted with the same illness as Peter is here, which suggests that _you_ need the cure to survive."

"But it's not me," she said, suddenly lost in confusion. "I am not in that hospital bed."

"No, you are not, but another _you_ is! I can't do this," Walter said, shattered. "What right do I have to trade one life for another? I've already done that once, I cannot do it again."

Olivia grimaced at Walter's painfully truthful statement. Who was she, though, to make the same decision Walter had done when he decided to steal the other Peter? She wanted Peter to live more than anything, but at what cost? The cost of her own life? She couldn't make that decision, she couldn't take that step from humanity to that of a god, because that is what she would be, a god determining who lives and who dies. If only someone else could make that decision for her, she could be let off the hook and relax, but she knew there was no chance of that. Peter would be dead and buried long before God would ever give her a sign. That is, if she could decide whether or not she still believed in God.

She faltered in her place, hands going up to her head as she dragged them through her loose hair, utterly frustrated and scared. She hated staying in one place for too long, and she hated this place where she found herself, unable to make a clear decision to move forward. She had to get out, out of this place, this tragic world distraught with human imperfection. Storming from Room #704, she raced down the hall and back to the elevator.

All she wanted was escape, but she would not find it. All she wished for was Peter's speedy recovery, but she could not make it happen because she was lost at the crossroads of her own morality and ethics. All she wanted was for everything to go away and leave her be, but she would still be haunted by the world she turned her back on.

**In front of the elevator, she raised her hand to press the down button but only grabbed the side of the wall instead, angrily punching the corner with the palm of her hand. She couldn't turn her back on those she cared for, neither Walter or Peter. When did they find their way inside her damaged heart? When did she become this vulnerable, this weak? Since when did she ever run away from her problems? These problems and consequences were not going anywhere whether she ran or stayed, but which way could she feel right with herself, feel as though she could live with her choices? She had to do what she could, even if it meant actively killing herself in another reality.**


	5. Chapter 5: Activation and the Mission

**Part 2: The Struggle on the Other Side**

**Chapter 5: Activation and the Mission**

Around the time the clock on the wall ticked for the 60th time, indicating a minute had passed since he set his eyes upon it, more of his surroundings came clearly into view. It was dark, with only one lamp lit in the corner of the room, casting eerie shadows on the empty floor and brown curtains along the windows. He tried to move his head to get a better view of the room he found himself in, but then his throat itched uncomfortably as though he wanted or needed to cough but couldn't. He felt as though he couldn't catch his breath, like there was a heavy weight on his chest. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he pulled the blankets from his legs and turned to stand up. It was obvious that he was in the hospital, but why? Other than the strange feeling in his throat, he felt fine, not nearly as sick as he had earlier. He thought it funny that there wasn't anything attached to his arms to monitor his vitals like there usually would be in a hospital. _Maybe none of it was necessary_, he thought.

Getting to his feet, he held the back end of his hospital gown awkwardly as he stepped along the cold floor and out into the hallway.

_It must be late_, he thought when he noticed that most of the hallway lights were turned off, making it difficult to see. With a hand on the wooden railing along the wall, he felt his way slowly down the hall toward the nurses' station. He would have asked one of them what had happened, why he had been taken to the hospital, but no one was there to ask. _Strange that they'd all take a break at once._

Continuing to walk on down the hall to find a nurse or somebody, he came to the waiting room with red cushioned chairs and a large fish tank in the middle of the room. He was relieved to find both Walter and Olivia. This room was just as dark as the hospital room and hallway had been, but the rippling light from the fish tank illuminated their dark silhouettes. He could see them standing closely together …hugging?

Confused, Peter tried to speak but nothing more than a squeaky breath of air escaped his lips. The sound he made must have been too quiet for either of them to hear because neither of them made any indication that they had heard. He'd have to get closer.

But then when he stepped within arms reach of them, his heart nearly stopped as the light reflected off the tears falling from their eyes—both of them. What was going on? What happened? Did something else happen while he was sick and asleep at home? Maybe someone was in a car accident—Rachel! But then why would Walter be crying about it? Could it be Astrid? No, he'd probably only cry if something happened to Gene. Then what? Why did they seem as though someone had just died?

Reaching out a hand, he grabbed Olivia's shoulder. "Oliv—, –at's –oing on? –at –ppen'd?" Peter said in a broken voice.

But Olivia did not respond. She didn't even turn to look at him. She just kept crying into Walter's shoulder as the fish in the tank suddenly stopped swimming. Actually, had they been moving at all? He hadn't noticed it before but it seemed as though the fish hadn't been moving for a long time. They were simply suspended in the water, like time had stopped.

Reclaiming his hand from Olivia's shoulder, Peter turned toward Walter, this time forcefully trying to pry him away from her. If it wasn't awkward enough to see them locked together in such an emotional embrace…

However, Walter's arms were too heavy, so firmly wrapped around Olivia's fine frame that even with all of his strength, there was nothing Peter could do to part them.

_What the hell is going on?_ he thought. He took a confused step backward and looked back at the fish tank. The fish inside remained motionless in the water. _Maybe they're all dead_, he thought, _the fish. But then wouldn't they be floating up at the surface?_

As he stood in front of the tank, beside his father and Olivia, he noticed how the light from the tank washed over them then reflected back onto the surface of the glass, which then gave off a mirror image of the two standing next to it. Peter's form, however, did not reflect back into his eyes. It was as though he wasn't even there.

_How can that be?_ he thought, staring at the tank. Stepping closer, he placed his hand on the side of the glass and waited a moment to see if it would cause a foggy halo to form around it, but nothing happened. Then he squatted down to his feet and tried to fog up the glass by breathing warm air onto it, but again nothing happened. He looked back up at Olivia and his father, thinking something awful must have happened—to him.

*****

Olivia and Walter stood locked within each other's arms, neither one able to break the moment of comfort they found in each other long enough to accept reality. But then after a long while, Olivia broke away and wiped the tears from her face with the back of a hand, her eyes flashing with inner determination and strength.

"If we're going to do this, then we better get to it," she said, willing her eyes to dry. There would be time to cry once this was over.

Walter, a stray tear falling from the base of his chin, nodded. "I cannot guarantee that your powers of perception will kick in right away, but I am hopeful, given your demonstration a moment ago, that you can control it."

"Shouldn't I need some sort of drug or something to make it easier to see the other side?"

"In any other circumstance, I would be more than happy to administer a drug or two—I might even take some myself. But this ability, Olivia, comes from you. The initial Cortexiphan trials gave you the ability, but it is not the necessary key you need to unlock your perception. That, I'm afraid, is entirely your doing."

"But I don't know how to turn it on, Walter. It just happened; I had no control over it."

"And how did you feel at the time?"

The first time she could remember clearly. It was in the Federal building, in a dark and deserted computer room. She felt like a failure, it was her fault that hundreds of innocent lives would be snuffed out, ripped from this world to slam full-force into the other. She had seen the horrors such a collision would cause, and she shuttered at the thought. The only thing that made her feel safe, the only thing that could dissolve her fear was not a thing at all—it was Peter.

How powerfully he was able to stir up her emotions! She remembered the warmth that spread throughout her whole body at his gentle caress. He made her feel so many different emotions all at once, it made her head spin just thinking about it. She was _desperate_ to activate her ability to save those people, _afraid_ of failing and allowing innocents to be sacrificed in this coming war, _curious_ at the warm butterflies that flittered about in her stomach, _guilty_ for feeling the pull toward Peter even though she had just been in a serious relationship with John not even a year and a half ago, _anxious_ to know exactly what Peter was thinking as he bent down low. She could feel his breath on her skin—and the _fear_. The fear of failure, fear of death, fear of betrayal, fear of a new possibility. It all meshed together like the "garbage" ice cream she used to eat as a kid and loved even though it was just leftover scraps of a bunch of different ice cream.

Allowing the wave of memory wash her thoughts away, she found her answer. "I felt anxious and excited, all at once."

Walter nodded as though he knew the answer even before she spoke the words. "Of course, these two feelings stem from a single emotion. We just differentiate the two depending on whether or not it is a positive or negative feeling. How do you feel now?"

Olivia wrinkled her nose as if it would help her get in tune with her most inner feelings. "I'm anxious to get this to work, to help Peter, but I'm afraid I can't do this; I don't know how."

"You mustn't be afraid. Aren't you excited to see what the other side is like?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't care what it's like. I just want to get this done."

Walter's tongue clicked inside his mouth. "You have to go deeper, think harder. There has to be a positive side to this situation. Can't you see it?"

"No, Walter!" she yelled at him, frustrated. "How can any of this be a good thing?" All she could think about was seeing herself in that hospital room, knowing that she must die for Peter to live, if she could get that far.

Walter smiled patiently, gesturing them to sit and rest a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you. Maybe if we slow down and allow your sight to open on its own…"

His voice seemed to trail off as Olivia's attention focused on a strange sensation on her right shoulder. It was a tingly feeling, like when your arm or foot has fallen asleep and the blood flow to that appendage has just been released. It was a warm feeling, not frightening in any way, although she could not explain what it was. She felt herself wondering what it could be and wanting to know more. It peeked her interest in such a way, she could feel her blood pump excitedly.

Whatever it was, whatever caused her to feel the way she did, anxious to save Peter and excited for a future with him in it, she didn't care because as she turned to look into the fish tank, she saw the colorful tropical fish meld and shift into the graceful form of striped angelfish.

"I can see it, Walter," she said. "Now what do I do?"

"**Now you find the cure," she heard Walter say far away. When she turned her head away from the tank, she saw that Walter was no longer sitting next to her. She was there alone, sitting in a velvety, blue chair.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Destination and Vision

**Chapter 6: The Destination and Vision**

Without knowing where she was going, Olivia ran down the hall toward the elevators. The moment she pressed the down button, she could have sworn she heard something, like someone whispered something quietly behind her. Turning around, however, she saw no one. It was just her in a dark, deserted hallway. Whatever she thought she heard was just her imagination.

When the elevator doors opened, she stepped anxiously inside. _There it is again_, she thought, _that feeling like someone's there, watching._ Although turning around, she only saw herself reflected in the mirror and nothing else. With a deep breath, she tilted her head, confounded. Normally the feeling would instill a heightened sense of danger, or perhaps trigger the flight or fight response. Still, this feeling was almost familiar, a pleasant feeling that seemed to calm her rapidly beating heart. Then before the elevator even reached the third floor, she heard the noise a third time. But this time it sounded like words whispered over a long distance.

"-via! -livia! Can you hear me?"

She turned around to see who spoke, but she was the only one in the elevator.

"If you can hear me, please tell me! Olivia!"

It couldn't be… could it?

"Peter?" she heard herself say, full well knowing that Peter wasn't in this world, nor was he in any condition to speak to her. Before Olivia had the chance to listen for an answer, the elevator doors opened at ground level. She couldn't just stay in the elevator, listening to voices that was more than likely a figment of her distraught mind. Taking a step from the elevator, she turned around to watch as the doors closed in silence. _Maybe the voice would try to speak again_, she thought.

However, it did not.

Shaking her head, Olivia sighed to herself. Why she was getting so upset over nothing? There was nothing in the hall with her, nothing physical to suggest that something or someone was there. She had so much yet to do, so much to accomplish, she couldn't afford to lose her mind at the beginning of her mission. She had to stay focused.

And so setting forth toward the entrance of the hospital, the thought occurred to her: _I have no car here!_

"Great, now what?" she said aloud.

"I guess you're stuck here with me," said the voice.

There it was again, the voice, only this time she heard the words as clearly as though someone said them directly behind her. Her heart pounding twice as fast as it had been, she whirled around to spy who spoke to her, but as she discovered before, she was the only one in sight.

"You _can_ hear me, can't you? Thank God…"

She was losing her mind, hearing voices that did not exist except in her head. It was all the stress that she was under, worried about Peter, worried that she would be unable to master her ability to travel to the other universe and back safely, worried that the only thing that could save Peter would end up costing her life, or at least her life in another reality. Why should she care, though? That person wasn't her. She could die and nothing would change in her world, except perhaps herself. How could one willingly choose death for yourself in another reality? Would she really be left unchanged…or perhaps something hidden deep within her would be irrevocably damaged in the process, forever changed? Just like Walter.

"C'mon, Olivia," the voice of Peter said. "You can't lose it now."

At the sound of his voice, she raised a hand up to her chest, fearing her heart would burst from her chest at any moment. What should she do? All would be lost if she gave into her fears, her delusions. And yet there was something in the back of her mind that didn't care about the risks—it just wanted to hear Peter's voice again.

"Peter? Is that you?" she said, her eyes growing misty. She continued to look about the lobby but no one was there.

"Hey," he said, as she felt something warm and tingly on the side of her right cheek. "It's me. You don't think I'd let you step into the other side alone, do you?"

_It was him! _

"Peter!" she said, her voice echoing loudly in the empty lobby. She wasn't alone after all; he was there with her. Smiling, she shook her head. "How-how can I hear you? I just saw you in the hospital room…"

"Yeah, I don't get it either. I remember waking up in that room, then I went to find you and Walter." Pausing awkwardly, he continued, his voice accusing, "What _was_ that about, Olivia? The two of you. He was holding you pretty tightly…"

Was he there, when she let her emotions take control of her in those few moments of weakness? She had let herself go, let Walter comfort her as her world was crumbling around at her feet. A tear escaped from its prison in her eyes, recalling the shock and fear of Peter's condition. Then she shook her head, grinning. If Peter had seen her in Walter's arms, was he confused with what he had seen? Surely, he didn't think…

"We were worried about you, Peter—we still are."

"_You_ were holding on to him pretty tightly, yourself. You wanna tell me what _that_ was all about?"

And now he was interrogating her? Flicking the tear away with the back of her hand, somehow irritated and amused through it all, she said, "Is that jealousy I hear?"

Another pause.

_Ha! He was!_ Jealous of his father being so close to her…! _Unbelievable!_ she thought.

"Don't get your hopes up, Dunham," he said, sounding a bit agitated himself. "You still have to find that cure, or else no one can have me."

He always did have a dark sense of humor, Olivia thought. Maybe if Peter was here, he could help her find the cure. Maybe he'd know where to look!

"Peter, what do you know of the cure?"

He shouldn't have known anything about that. It was the other Peter who had been sick and dying. This Peter shouldn't have any memory even remotely related to the cure… He still didn't know that his spirit was again home, in the world in which he was born. Should she tell him?

"I don't know much, just that Walter was researching a cure to a type of flu that went extinct in the late 30's. I never understood why he was so obsessed over it, but I was just a kid. I was clueless about a lot of things back then."

A deep crease formed in the center of Olivia's forehead. Could he know something…? "How old were you, Peter, when you first heard of this?"

"Ten? Eleven, twelve? I don't know. Somewhere around there. My mother told me that is what caused Walter's mind to collapse, some crazy obsession over 'the cure.' She never told me what it was, though. A year or two later was when the accident in the lab happened, and you know what happened after that."

"Walter was sent to St. Clair's," Olivia said, trying to understand all of these jumbled and out-of-sequence events. Peter knew nothing of the cure before Walter's mental condition began to deteriorate. But why couldn't he remember anything about it before then…? "Are you sure you don't remember hearing anything about it before the accident in the lab?"

"I don't know, there's not much from that time I remember, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"I remember bits and pieces of things in my childhood, like playing with those little G.I. Joe figures. I remember I used to love—I mean—_love_ dinosaurs, had them all over my walls. I was also facinated with space and stars, but besides that, I don't remember much."

"What about your mother? Do you remember anything about her from when you were little?" It didn't occur to Olivia that the question sounded a little insensitive, but there was little time to waste on pleasantries.

"About mom?" Peter's voice paused as though he were thinking. "I remember one time. I was sick in bed, and she came and showed me a cool trick with a silver coin. She said Walter wanted to show me how to do it, but he was always busy with his work, never had the time." Again Peter paused, this time several seconds longer. "I don't get it, I couldn't remember any of this before. That's why he was always gone, he was working on a cure. A cure for something, what was it? It started with an H."

"Hepea," Olivia said. "That's the illness you had."

"Hepea, yeah, that sounds right. How do you know that?"

"Peter, we have to find your father. Maybe he isn't far from here…"

Olivia took a few bouncing steps toward the main entrance to the building before she heard Peter's voice call for her. "Olivia, take a look at this." Olivia turned around but when her eyes scanned all over the lobby, unsure what Peter was referring to since she couldn't see him, he said, "Over here, behind the receptions desk."

The receptions desk on this side was almost identical to that on the other when she first came to the hospital to ask for Peter's room number. It was a large oak desk behind which two to three people could comfortably sit to help direct incoming guests. As Olivia walked behind the desk, she noticed two Dell desktop computers on the lower part of the desk, shielded from view of guests peering down. There was a discarded styrofome coffee cup in a trash can all the way under the desk, near one of the chairs on wheels. There was also a pen and pad of paper next to the computer monitor. Besides that, she didn't notice anything out of the oridinary.

"Not on the desk," she heard Peter's voice say. "Here, on the wall."

_The wall?_ she first thought, the thought of actually **turning around** not occuring to her.

"Turn around, Olivia. You'll see it."

Blinking confusedly, she set her eyes on a large computer screen embedded within the wall that displayed advertisements for medical supplies or even introduced some of the hospital's staff and doctors. At the moment, the screen seemed to be locked on one particular doctor:

Walter Bishop, MD. , Rm. #1461

President-Elect, National Foundation for Infectious Diseases

Chairman, Department of Preventive Medicine,

Harvard University School of Medicine

"It's Walter," Olivia said, shocked yet somehow not. "So, he's a medical doctor over here. Maybe we can get into his office and find out if he has any information on the cure."

"Sounds like a plan," Peter's voice said. "Let's go."

Olivia felt something warm in her hand as she started to walk toward the elevators and giggled to herself. If only she could see his face right now…

*****

Up on the 14th floor, they came to the room labeled #1461. It was the door to any other office, no special security device on the door, nothing that even suggested that the door could even be locked since there was no keyhole either.

"Let's just poke around inside, shall we," Olivia said as she pushed the handle of the door down to open it.

Peter chuckled. "Isn't that my line?"

"Normally, yes," Olivia said, her voice calm and steady. "But in your ghostly condition at present, your skills are a bit useless."

"Useless, huh? Ouch. You do realize you're talking to a dying person, right? You could be a little more—"

"—Shh, I think I hear someone."

"Yeah, me—telling you to be a little more caring, maybe?"

"Peter, please. Be quiet."

"Telling me to be quiet, now? Okay, fine. You know what? I'm gonna go wait outside. You do…whatever you need to do."

The next moment as Olivia took the first steps into the office was silent. Apparently Peter had left. Why was he acting so sensitive all of a sudden, anyway? Maybe because he was just about to see an alternate Walter? How would that make him feel? Anxious to see a whole Walter with complete control over his mind? Pity for the broken Walter he had known since their reunion? Maybe it was better for Olivia to do this on her own.

The office was dark yet not without light, and strangely smelled of smoke. The area she stood in was surrounded by several chairs along the walls as though this was used as a waiting area. A large counter table was along the wall in front of her which blocked the hallway that went further into the back rooms of the office. There was a large, metal trashcan next to the counter that smelled of smoke and ash. As she bent her knees to get a closer look, she reached her hand inside and noticed that the ash was still slightly warm.

Then as she stood to her feet again, she stepped lightly on the hard floor to mute her footsteps, walking down the hall toward the light past several doors on either side. The light she saw came from a room at the end of the hall, the door left wide open. With little time for proper introductions, Olivia knocked on the side of the door.

"Excuse me, Dr. Bishop?"

The Walter Bishop of this world sat at an old wooden desk—much like a primary school teacher's desk—with a single capped, glass vile in his hand. His eyes seemed distant, as though he had been thinking of something deeply and for a long time. He reacted very little to Olivia's unannounced visit.

"What do you want?" he said, heartlessly, his eyes never leaving the vile in his hand.

"Dr. Bishop, I've come for your assistance. You are the Chairman for the Department of Preventive Medicine, from Harvard."

"And you are very observant. The screen downstairs has been stuck on my slide for the past 23 hours."

"Dr. Bishop, I'm sorry to intrude at such a late hour, but I was wondering if you could help me with my own research. I'm trying to find anyone who might know about disease called Hepea."

At the sound of the name, Walter's cold eyes met with Olivia's. "What do you know of that?"

"Just that I have been studying the disease, trying to find a cure."

"And you will be unsuccessful," Walter said harshly. With the vile of blue liquid in his hand, he stood and absently walked toward the large window looking down at the city of Boston below. "There hasn't been a documented case of Hepea since the late 1930's. In order to synthesize a cure, an untainted sample of the virus must be preserved."

"Which I believe has been preserved, in this very hospital. There is an agent downstairs infected with this very virus, isn't there?"

Walter was silent for many seconds, nearly a minute, as he stared out the window. Then for whatever reason, he spoke his mind without much concern for holding on to secrecy.

"The girl downstairs, they said she became infected with virus when a sample of it was being transported here. She was quickly put under quarantine. She has but hours to live without the cure," Walter said coldly.

"She was used," Walter said, continuing his story like an uncaring narrator. "Manipulated by the government. They feared another outbreak, you see, and called upon me to resurrect my research from 25 years ago to manufacture the cure. I knew, however, what they intended—they weren't concerned for that poor girl who was infected merely because she was doing her job. They wanted her to get sick so they would have due cause to have the cure made in quantity… quantity enough to ensure the survival of their forces."

"Biological warfare?" Olivia said, putting the pieces together. What would happen if this strain of the virus was unleashed in her world, a world with no known cure? Would it be the Petrol incident all over again?

"That is why I destroyed the formula. All that's left of the cure is in this single vile. Without it, they cannot use the virus as a weapon."

"But the agent…?"

"She is but one, miss. One verses billions of lives."

No! If Walter destroyed the cure, Peter in the other universe would die, the other Olivia would die.

And maybe he was right. Maybe if the cure was made, maybe it could be used in the advancement of a biological weapon. That was always the way of things. A powerful discovery is made for the good of all mankind just for the weak minded few in power to abuse it. How many things in this world might change by her meddling in the course a life was meant to take? Was Peter meant to have died when he was seven? Was that a mistake? Was he supposed to live? Again, she felt like she was swimming in an ocean only gods ought to touch.

She came near the man at the window, touched his hand and held it fast. "You can't destroy that," she said firmly.

Walter peered at her with such piercing eyes, she was caught off guard. She had never seen such determination and cold insensitivity in them before.

"And who are you to tell me what I must and must not do?"

She had to give him a reason, but only one came to mind. "She is my sister. I can't lose her," she said, her voice strangely unsteady. Perhaps he could hear it.

Squinting his eyes darkly as he stared Olivia down, he tried to peel back the layers of lies from the truth hidden inside. "You do look like her," he said, "a little too much? Is she your twin or…?"

"Yes," she answered quickly as to not allow Walter's deducing mind enough time to work things out. "She is my identical twin, that is why I can't let you destroy the cure that will save her."

Walter stared into Olivia's adamant eyes. "I can see that this cure means a lot to you, but it's not for your sister. That would look entirely different in your eyes, voice. Why do you really want this cure so badly?"

She couldn't hide it, he was too observant, his eyes too keen. But still, could she trust him? Could she tell him that she knew what happened to his son, that she knew him, that she was trying everything she could to save him? There was nothing she could say that would get him on her side… and if her Walter made a doorway, then what would stop this Walter from doing the same? What if he tried to right the wrong from so long ago…?

Without another moment wasted, she withdrew her gun. "Give it to me now."

"Who are you?" Walter said, his eyes glaring with angry fire.

"I'm with the FBI and I need you to pass me the vile, slowly and carefully."

"Your badge?"

"The vile first."

"A gun in my face does not scare me, miss. And I would gladly die to save the future if I must." He took the vile with bright blue liquid in his hand as though he was about to shatter it in his grasp.

_So force wasn't going to work…_

"Even if it could save your son's life?"

She didn't want to say anything, she didn't want to upset yet another life that had already learned to move on, but she had no choice.

"What do you know of my son?!" His hand with the vile shook with the intensity of his anger. "Tell me! What do you know about my son?"

"He is sick," Olivia said, carefully choosing her words. "We believe he is in the final stages of Hepea… He will die if he does not receive the cure that you made."

"You know him?" Walter's eyes softened, showing the first hint of an emotion other than anger. "Where is he? I want to see him."

Of course he wanted to see him. It had been 25 years since Peter mysteriously disappeared from this world, but it was an impossible request.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that, I wish I could."

"Do you? Do you know what it's like to loose a child? To put him safely in bed at night only to find it empty in the morning? Do you know what it's like to wonder, to need to know what happened, to feel yourself losing control—your sanity—trying to put the pieces together?"

She couldn't understand what it was like. There was nothing she could do to change anything, nothing she could do to take away his pain. She simply held on to her gun, threatening to get what she wanted. "There's nothing I can say that will make any of this better. But you have to believe me. Peter is dying."

"And so he shall because I cannot give you this, even at the cost of my own son's life."

It was the standstill, the wall dividing the two sides of negotiations, that she feared. She could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she swallowed hard. How strong this Walter was, to find out his son was still alive and to still put his life on the line—a single casualty as opposed to how many would die if the virus and cure were used for war.

There was nothing she could do to avoid a physical confrontation with the man, but with the gun in her hand, she couldn't act quickly, so she thought perhaps faking him out would work. Lowering her weapon, she slowly put it back in its holster and paused to give Walter a false sense of security.

In one swift motion, Olivia kicked Walter in the gut with her high heeled shoe, violently shoving him backward into the wall as the vile clinked to the floor. Olivia sprang toward it, but Walter was faster, his hand raised up to her waist and gripped her gun. Face to face, they both froze.

"Get back," Walter said, holding the gun in his left hand while the other secured the vile again.

"Olivia, get out of there! Leave the vile and run," Olivia heard Peter's voice say.

She shook her head. "No, I can't let you die, I won't."

Walter looked at Olivia's seriously drawn face at the opposite end of the gun and scowled at her words. It was as though… "Who are you talking to?" he said.

There was no way Olivia could explain the voice she heard. What could she say? 'It's the voice of your missing son!' He would think her more crazy than… the Walter she had come to know in her world.

But she didn't need to say anything because a moment later, Walter's eyes opened wide as though he had just seen a ghost. A foggy image of a person appeared between Olivia and the old man, and she knew right away who it was, even though the distance between them blurred his image.

"Who are you?" Walter said, aiming the weapon at the misty figure. There was something familiar in those green eyes…

"Walter, put the gun down," Peter said, holding up his arms.

"Answer me! Who are you? Where did you come from?"

_He didn't know the truth to tell Walter,_ Olivia thought, panicking.

"I'm your son," Peter said, "but I'm not from this world. There's another, like this place, but different. That's where I come from."

Walter frowned at the news, not knowing whether to believe his eyes or not. Could this be his long, lost son? Or maybe his son from another reality? He knew it could be possible, probable even. Before he knew it, Walter's hand holding the gun fell to his side, tears streaming down his face.

"Son! Peter!" he stepped closer to the shimmering form of Peter and tried to touch his face but his hand only touched empty space, which caused the tears to flow even more. "What _happened_ to you? Why are you like this?"

Peter sadly shook his head. He never felt more helpless, his life so out of control. "Walter, what Olivia said is true. I'm dying."

"No. No! I just found you, my son! I will not let you go!" Walter said, his voice oddly similar to the other Walter. "What's wrong with you? Is it Hepea again?"

Peter couldn't respond but Olivia answered for him, "Yes. That is why I've come to find the cure. You are the only one who can save him."

But the threat of what the cure meant was still ever present, his own words echoing in the back of his mind. Walter responded, "The cure must be destroyed…"

"That's fine," Olivia said. "But please, let me save Peter first, then I promise I will destroy it, you have my word."

Walter paused, clearly thinking the matter over. How many lives would he sacrifice in the name of saving his only son? For all he knew this wasn't even his son. "What of the agent downstairs? She will die instead."

There was nothing Olivia could say. Peter glanced behind him at Olivia, confused. "What agent? Someone else has Hepea here?"

She didn't want to tell Peter that it was she who was dying of Hepea in this world. She didn't want to tell him that if they took the cure from this world now, the Olivia Dunham of this world would die. She didn't want Peter to know that she was willing to end that girl's life if it meant that Peter could live. She didn't want Peter to look at her with the same eyes he always looked at his father. She didn't want to be seen as a desperate person playing God to get what he wanted.

But then suddenly Walter raised the vile up to his eyes and held it there in a shaking hand, seeing both death and life spelled out in the blue liquid. "Take it and go," he said, offering Olivia the blue vile. "Save him, please."

Taking the vile in her hand, she sighed deeply and traded glances again with the ghostly form of Peter. But before either of them could say anything, the ground was violently pulled out from underneath their feet as the tiles and mortar from the ceiling and walls feel upon them. The vile slipped from Olivia's hand and shattered against the jagged floor, spilling its contents all over the rubble. Both Walter and Olivia were knocked unconscious from the force, but Peter was still there, standing in disbelief as Olivia's shirt and part of her jacket soaked up the last of the cure.


	7. Chapter 7: Explosion and the Anticipatio

**Chapter 7: Explosion and the Anticipation**

She didn't know how long she had been lying there in the debris, but the sound of the zap of disrupted electric lines stirred Olivia back to life. Beside a little discomfort in her hip that she had injured upon returning from the alternate universe the last time, she felt fine.

But then she felt a cold, sticky sensation when she planted her hands down on the broken ground. Her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark and blinking light, she could see whatever was split on the ground gave off an eerie blue tint. She looked closer and noticed that it wasn't only spilt on the floor but also all over her, staining her shirt blue.

"Oh, my God," she said breathlessly. Although she wished the blue substance wasn't what she thought it was, she knew it was the cure that would save Peter's life. And it was gone.

As she tried to push back the urge to crumble along with the debris in the room, she turned, searching the room for Walter but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. Then suddenly the room around her changed. As though by magic, the room mended itself, the fragmented walls and ceiling tiles were put back in place, and there was no sticky blue liquid split on the floor. She was the only one in the room, crouching on her hands and knees in the dark silence. Even the blurry image of Peter she had seen before was gone.

She quickly jumped to her feet, her hands clinging to her soaked shirt. Maybe there was still something Walter could do to salvage the cure! Maybe he could extract enough of it in order to replicate it to save Peter. Dashing down the empty hall, she pressed the down button of the elevator, but nothing happened. She pressed it again and again, but still nothing happened and the elevator remained silent.

Turning her head, she found the staircase and flew downstairs through the dimly lit corridor. When she came to the fifth floor, the staircase seemed to shake and change, the opaque texture of the walls melting away to reveal the sleeping city outside; the stairs also suddenly seemed to be made of glass. Holding on tightly to the railing, Olivia felt her head feel strangely light, fantastical sounds of rushing water flooded her ears. She felt herself start to lose the strength to stand as she slid down the side of the wall.

What was happening? Where was she? Why did everything around her seem to disappear? She felt as though everything she had come to care about was being ripped away, leaving her empty and hallow inside, nothing left to mask her fear.

And as the clear world around her went black, she thought she could hear—or rather feel—soft words reaching out to comfort and hold her, but she was too far away to reach them. Although she could hear nothing that made any linguistic sense, she could, however, understand the feelings that it caused; mostly Fear, a gripping fear ripped and pulled at her from every direction, pulling her down the crystal glass stairs, out the clear windows, up through the open ceiling above her. She tried to feel the sides of the stairwell walls, but there was nothing she could hold on to in a world of illusions. All she could do was try to combat the overwhelming sense of anxiety inside, fearing she would not have the strength to win the battle let alone the war.

Then when she thought she too would fade to nothing like the world around her, a clear voice whispered into her ear through the empty space, so closely yet so far away. "I'm still here with you, Olivia. Can you hear me?"

It was Peter's voice. She turned her head to see if she could find his shimmering form that she had seen with the other Walter, but saw nothing, not until she felt that warm sensation on her shoulder and the warmth that spread throughout her body and soul. Looking to her right, she saw him looking at her with his bright green eyes peering at her with concern.

"Peter, I'm…"

"I lost you for awhile," he said sadly, like it was his fault Olivia had been whisked away so suddenly. "Can you get up? We have to get back to our world."

At the words 'our world,' Olivia remembered the reason she had come, the reason she had tried so hard to make it to this alternate universe. Her hand and eyes fell to her bluish stained shirt. "It's gone," she said. Looking back into his eyes, she added, "Peter, I'm so sorry… I—"

Peter only smiled that soft grin that made her insides flutter wildly. "—It's alright. Listen, you have to be strong right now, okay? I don't know the way back. You have to concentrate to get us back to our world."

"But Peter, without the cure…"

He stood and held out a hand for Olivia as though not caring whether or not he received a cure. "You are all that matters to me," he said, reaching out a shimmering hand to touch her face, his eyes almost glowing in the darkness.

There was so much more Olivia wanted to say, so much more she wanted to experience in a world with Peter in it. It just wasn't meant to be. Maybe if she stayed in this place, this dark world between worlds, they could be together. Even if everything around her turned to air, even if her body faded to nothing… Could she find happiness in an empty world?

"Olivia," Peter said in the darkness as his hand fell from her shivering face to wrap a strong arm around her.

Olivia's heart raced. They were completely alone in the empty space of nowhere. The stairwell, the building, the city lights, everything was gone except for the two of them left floating in the black abyss. If it weren't for the glow of Peter's eyes and shimmering form, Olivia wouldn't have been able to see anything. He was the beacon that illuminated the path from her nightmares, if only she could take that first step forward.

The next moment, Peter's form flickered like a candle flame in the wind but the warmth of his presence still protectively wrapped around her. It was such a comforting feeling, even though she knew it wouldn't last. But maybe if she closed her eyes, maybe time would stop. Simply floating there in the moment, she felt a tickly sensation dance across her lips.

Her eyes still closed, Olivia heard him whisper softly, "Let's go home."

Heart pounding excitedly, Olivia opened her eyes to a dimly let sidewalk along what appeared to be a pond or small lake. She turned her head right and left, forward and behind, but she could see no one. Peter was gone and she was again alone, a white path extending out into the dark horizon. Although Peter's warmth was still with her, she could feel the sting of the darkness tugging at her, wishing to pull her back into its depths. She had to escape this place while the road lie clearly under her feet.

*****

The halls had been deserted for several hours, the only people walking to and from were the nurses checking in on patients periodically over the night. From time to time someone would join Walter in the waiting room. He had been staring at the fish tank all night, just watching the fish go around as though any moment Olivia would jump out of the water with the cure in hand. Though, of course, he knew that wouldn't happen; it just kept his mind from shutting down completely.

Or thinking the worst.

He knew there was the possibility that Olivia wouldn't make it back in time. There was a possibility that she wouldn't be able to find the cure. And what would he do if he lost not only his son but Olivia as well in the process? How could he live with himself…?

As he sat drowning in his own nightmare, the surrounding warmth of the waiting room shed its comforting feeling when he saw Olivia, her hair blown all about and her eyes nearly bloodshot from—

Quickly standing to his feet, Walter opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to ask if she had been successful, if she had found the cure to save his dying son, but the look in her eyes gave him the one answer he feared the most.

"Walter, I'm sorry," she said, two tears slipping from her red eyes. "I lost it. It just fell out of my hands and—Oh, Walter!" she cried, nearly crumbling to the ground had Walter not been there to catch her.

"Olivia," Walter said as tears welled up in his own eyes. "What happened?"

"I failed. I wasn't strong enough. I—" she paused as though suddenly remembering something. "I saw him. He was there, with me the whole time. And I let him down."

Before Olivia collapsed to her knees, Walter was there to catch her again, although his own arms and legs shook uncontrollably. He simply shook his head 'no.' "Maybe there's still time to try again, maybe you can go back—"

"—Walter, that was the last of the cure. The formula's gone. Even if I went back again, there wouldn't be anything left to bring back. Oh, Walter! What do we do now?"

Tapping her back like a parent comforting a frightened child, Walter was unable to give her an answer. What was left for them to do? Nothing. There was nothing they could do no to save Peter. He would die, leaving Walter and Olivia behind to bury him in the cold March ground. All that was left was to be there for him when the time came.

And that time was not far off.

*****

As they entered the hospital room, the hissing breaths of the breathing machine filled their ears. The clock on the wall read 1:35 in the morning.

Walter was the first to step near Peter's bedside; he took Peter's still hand in his as he sat in the chair next to him. Still unable to accept that this was the end, this is how it was going to be, Olivia lingered in the small hallway in the room. It hadn't even been a day since Peter was admitted to the hospital yet, but she had a sickening feeling that there was little time left. This thought alone drove her further into the room even though she wanted nothing more than to run as far away as she could.

"Hello, son," Walter said, stroking Peter's hand tenderly with his thumb. "Olivia's back with us now. She tried to save you, you know. She did all she could to save you…"

Before Olivia had the chance to sit in the chair on the other side of the bed, across from Walter, both Walter and Olivia's eyes widened, focused on Peter's deathly face as two tears slowly fell from his closed eyes. Did he know they were there? Did he know where he was, what happened to him—what was about to happen?

It was too much to bear. Walter saw Olivia spring forward, her hands shaking, clutching at Peter's face as though unwilling to let this be the end. "Peter, no! Listen to me! You can't go, you have to fight it! Please, you have to!"

All Walter could do was sit, still holding Peter's hand. There was nothing more he could do, nothing more he could say to make the pain go away. And then he remembered it, the cemetery where his real son had been buried. That same sense of tragic closure, that sense of inadequacy, that feeling that he was willing to give anything just to have a second chance. He was never able to give his Peter a good life and he always wondered exactly how Peter had felt—did he know how much he was loved? So much for his father to do all of this, risk the fate of the world to get that second chance to tell him…

Rubbing Peter's hand a few more times, Walter leaned forward and placed his trembling lips upon it. "You are my everything, Peter," he gasped, tears mixing with a suddenly runny nose. "I love you, son."

As if in response, Peter's hand jumped in Walter's grasp, startling both onlookers. For a moment they dared to believe it was a good sign, that maybe by some miracle Peter's life would be spared. Then the monitor beside them began to sing a high pitched hymn of The End as a long line of red appeared across the screen.

"No. No!" Walter heard Olivia's screams echo in his ears. Then a tear-streaked Olivia looked pleadingly up at him. "You have to do something! Walter, please! Walter!"

It was time.

"Walter!" came Olivia's voice as she shook him from his nightmare. "You have to do something!"

His head swam in the murky darkness of the vision, tears still in his eyes. He looked around himself to take in his surroundings. Although he felt like he was just in Peter's hospital room, saying his last goodbyes, he now found himself sitting in the waiting room next to the large saltwater tank, where he had always been. The clock on the wall read 1:03am.

Walter blinked back the tears, poorly hiding his raw emotions, and looked up to see Olivia standing in front of him.

Her hair was a mess, windblown all over the place, and her shirt and jacket were stained with a strange blue liqui— _No!_

Jumping to his feet faster than even a 12 year old could have, Walter gripped Olivia's shirt. "Olivia, the cure! What happened?"

"Walter, I'm sorry. The vile slipped from my hand—it broke and…"

Walter's head spun, hundreds of possibilities threatening to drown him. "How long ago?"

"Not ten minutes ago," Olivia replied. She kept her hands down and away from her stained shirt as though touching it would somehow kill her. Or maybe it was the loss of the cure that somehow frightened her beyond common sense.

"Take off your shirt," Walter said, flatly. "There may still be time."


	8. Chapter 8: The Illusion and Resurrectio

**Chapter 8: The Illusion and Resurrection**

Time slowly ticked by as Olivia sat next to Peter, holding on tightly to his hand as though he would be swept away by invisible waves if she let go. It was nearly two hours since Walter went running off with her shirt in hand, babbling something about cooking up a new cure. With her shirt gone, Walter gave Olivia his wool sweater that itched beyond belief not to mention smelled of old man. She withstood the never-ceasing compulsion to scratch her skin off for thirty minutes or so before she ripped it off and merely buttoned her suit jacket as high as it would go.

As she sat there in the room, holding on to Peter's hand, Olivia looked at the clock on the wall again. It was going on 4:00am. Maybe Walter wasn't fairing so well, a thought that frightened her greatly as the sound of the ventilators forcing air in through Peter's lungs.

"If luck is on our side," Walter had said, "then it just might be possible to synthesize a new cure from the hospital's excess supply of other flu strains with the remaining residue of this cure that soaked into the fabric of your shirt."

"Will that work?" Olivia said.

Walter shook his head, both anxious and exhilarated. "I don't know, but I will try. Please, Olivia. Stay here with him. And pray this will work…"

Pray. It was a word Olivia never thought she would hear him say, ever. And yet it seemed perfectly natural. She never had a reason to pray in the past. Her family was a self-proclaimed 'whatever' when it came to religion. It was never anything important. And so now, as she sat beside Peter, possibly waiting for his final heartbeat, she found words springing into her mind, her soul, words pleading for a miracle, words that teetered on the borderline of bargaining. Could this be prayer…?

_Please_, she thought. _Don't let this be the end, please. Please…_

The feel of his skin was so cold and unresponsive, almost dead. And as that thought grew in her mind, a hallow feeling seemed to sweep from the dark corners of the room, like ebony skeletal fingers reaching out for her neck. But rather than fighting back the feelings of hopelessness and grief, Olivia simply sat and let them wrap around her. Maybe then the anxiety would be gone and she could find some peace.

A moment later, Olivia collapsed to the icy hospital floor, her hair like broken glass shattered on the ground.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in a park, the scent of cut grass and earth blew along with the soft wind against her face. It only took a few seconds to realize that she was not in a park but rather a cemetery, a newly carved tombstone sat unceremoniously at her feet. It read:

**Peter Bishop**

**1978-2010**

Olivia felt her heart jump up through her throat, gagging her; the heat that washed over her brought her to her knees. This was Peter's grave? Not this world's Peter but the one she had come to know well, come to care so much about… and she failed. She failed to save him and this was the result. Peter Bishop was dead.

Through the tears and debilitating sobs came a familiar sound in the wind:

_Olivia… Don't…_

Tears still streaming from her eyes, she looked up from the grave and tucked the few loose strands of hair behind her ears to see her surroundings better. She glanced around but could see no one.

_Please_, said the voice again, but this time she could have sworn she saw something move in the corner of her eye.

"Peter?" she said, almost afraid to turn her head to find no one there. But she risked it anyway. As she turned her head slightly to the left, she saw him, squatting down beside her, his green eyes glowing more brightly than she had ever seen before—and his smile. How it gripped her heart so…and then her eyes fell on the grave before her. "Peter, what is this? This can't be real…"

Peter shook his head. "I would certainly hope not."

"Then why? Why is this… Why are we here?"

This time Peter only smiled softly. "I don't know."

Olivia must have heard the odd sound in his voice because she suddenly raised her head, her own green eyes peering through his. All she could see reflected in his eyes was sorrow.

"When you traveled through the space between worlds, I was there with you," he said. "Remember?"

She nodded. "Peter, that's the only reason I could find my way back. Without  
you—"

"—But I couldn't make it all the way through. Maybe because… I'm already gone, Olivia," he said, his glance falling on his own grave. An eerie chill passed through him and he shivered.

"No," Olivia said, shaking her head. "No, not yet. There's still time! Walter said…!"

"Maybe that's what he wanted you to believe."

What was he saying? That he wanted her to give up? Because she wouldn't! Not yet!

And then Peter reached over and took both of Olivia's hands in his own cold hands. Looking sadly into her eyes, he said, "You know I don't want to go... but I can't stay here. You have to let me go."

_You have to let me go. _The wind repeated his words.

Was that what this place was? A world of souls in limbo, neither alive nor dead because of the strings and shackles that bound them down, not allowing them to move on one way or the other. If whatever kept him here was severed, where would he go?

Suddenly fear gripped her. "What will happen to you, Peter?"

He only shook his head, a single tear falling from his left eye. He didn't know. Out of all the hardships he faced during his life, this was the moment he felt the weakest, thoroughly and completely helpless. He didn't want to know whether or not this was the final threshold between life and death. But there was still hope in hidden behind the folds of fear in Olivia's eyes. All he wanted was to hold on to that last remaining thread of hope.

As he reached a hand up to stroke Olivia's face, he said, "Before I lost you, I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me for what?"

"For everything you've done—you taught me that there is so much more to life than manipulating people to get what you _think_ you want. I was so lost, Olivia, more than you'll ever know. You gave purpose back to my life."

Olivia humbly shook her head. "You don't have to thank me," she said, wiping the tears from her face, narrowly missing Peter's hand that was still gently planted on the right side of her face. She had been hiding a devastating secret from him for weeks… and she couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth, even now. She did not deserve his gratitude.

With Olivia's hand lingering at the base of her eye, Peter took it and brought her into a close embrace. "I can't tell you everything that you make me feel, not like this…" His hand reached up to cradle her head from behind, his fingers playing in her hair. "But maybe we can at least finish what we started."

Suddenly, Olivia felt like she was in Jacksonville again, with Peter so close, her heart and mind raced. She knew this place wasn't real, that all of this might be a crazy dream and nothing more. But even still, she felt the butterfly wings beat against her stomach. _I can't do this_, she thought, _not again…_

The memory of John Scott flashed in the back of her mind. He was her partner… everything about their relationship was going against what she believed was "good conduct" on the job and yet he found his way into her heart. Just the same way as Peter had…

She wasn't able to tell him how she felt at that moment in Jacksonville for multiple reasons, but now? Did she even know how she felt about him? She knew her life changed the moment when the flight from Hamburg crashed, forever scared from John's apparent betrayal, but could it all have been for a purpose, a long winding path set out eons ago by an all-knowing deity—God even—so that they could meet, Peter and Olivia. Could it be fate that she was now standing in this awkward position in life, second guessing every good thing that came her way? She didn't want to follow in the same footsteps that she had followed before with John; rather, she wanted to stray from the clearly marked path ahead, to forge her own way through life, not because it was what God had planned for her, but because it was the only thing that felt right. And this felt right.

With Peter's arm around her waist and a hand lovingly stroking her hair, Olivia closed her eyes and leaned forward. Their lips met in an ardent kiss for what seemed like hours, time meaning nothing to them within each others' arms.

Olivia felt her heart pulsate with excitement. She would never admit it, but she had thought of this for a long time, even before that tense moment in Jacksonville. She occasionally caught her mind wandering off into flights of fancy, scripting her own romantic scenes with him. It was so fifth grade, she knew, but at least gave her a chuckle now and again.

That's why she should have been better prepared for this moment, she should have seen it coming even though part of her still wanted to be surprised, wanted someone to take her hand and lead her down the path of her life. What she would give if that someone was Peter…

If her eyes had been open, perhaps she would have seen the bleak cemetery be swept away by a swarm of purple butterflies radiating from their embrace. Fluttering their crystal wings, they rose up through the darkness, cutting their way through the passage between and on to the light of day. Before Olivia realized what was happening, she was already halfway through the portal to her world, both of them carried by the swarm of butterflies. It was the sudden cold feeling that opened her eyes and ultimately ended Peter and Olivia's first kiss.

With her eyes wide open, Olivia blinked as she looked around at the shadowy landscape around her until she noticed something was wrong. Peter was still there, holding her close, but his image was fading, nearly 50% transparent.

Peter placed a ghostly hand over Olivia's quivering lips and smiled as though he knew there wasn't much time left.

_You can make it_, Peter said, his voice almost like the whisper of the wind in Olivia's ears. A tear fell from her eye, which he caught in a fading hand. _No more crying now, you hear? This isn't goodbye._ He smiled, then added, _I promise._

The glimmer in his eyes reflected his whole heart and soul in that one moment and yet there was something else there that he tried to hide: doubt. Even if he promised her the world, it didn't mean she could actually have it. Peter was the same.

Would this really be the end? Would this be the last time Olivia could ever be this close, her last chance to say…

"Peter, wait! I—"

But the butterflies carrying them through the portal would not stop their ascent, but rather seemed to gain speed as Peter's form continued to fade to nothing. Olivia could hardly see the brightly shining green of his eyes when she heard his voice for the last time.

_You don't need to say anything. I already know._

The next moment everything around her melted into the darkness of night, and the protective feeling of Peter's arms around her was gone. Her last great fear kept repeating in her mind—would this be the end? Would this be the last time?

But he knew…! And just knowing that gave her the courage to tempt fate, to give herself to the unknown, invisible path ahead of her. With a single butterfly perched on her shoulder, she took the last step into reality.

Surrounded by silence, Olivia slowly became aware of the warm sunlight streaming in through the large hospital windows, draping her in a warm blanket of light. When she opened her eyes, the light was too bright and it took several moments before the space around her became visible. But as her eyes slowly adjusted to the light, her ears caught the sound of something—or rather the lack of something—that forced her to her feet in a bolt of panic.

She knew where she was now. She was in Peter's hospital room. How long she had been sitting in the chair beside his bed, she didn't know. The lack of sound from the ventilators frightened her, threw her into such a panic that her hands shook violently as she reached out to take his hand. Why had they stopped? Not only had the ventilators been turned off, but they were also removed from his mouth. It was too late. He was gone. An overwhelming sadness gripped her insides as she thought the worst. With a shaking hand, she slowly placed it above Peter's mouth for confirmation.

Her heart stopped. He was breathing on his own.

What happened? Was Walter successful after all? He must have been if Peter began showing any signs of improvement, and this was a big one. For a brief moment, her mind wandered off to Walter—where was he?—until it started wandering off to things outside her immediate knowledge, the memory of that place, that bleak landscape between worlds sprang up in her mind. And what had happened there.

If Peter was getting better, if he would make a full recovery, what might lie in store for them? Maybe it was all just a dream, maybe it was just her wild fantasies taking control in a moment of desperation. Maybe what happened between them was just in her mind and that's all it was.

"Olivia," came a voice near the doorway out of the room.

Glancing up, her eyes fogged with tears both spent and welling up, Olivia saw Walter walking toward her.

"I just stepped out to take a pee," he said, smiling like it was the good news she had been waiting to hear. "How are you feeling?" he said as he stepped near her and placed a gentle hand on her forehead. "Mm, no fever any more, it seems. Very good."

"Walter, what happened? Peter…"

Again, he smiled like he had finally witnessed his miracle from God. "He'll be fine, Olivia. I was able to salvage enough of the cure from your shirt to synthesize a new cure with the hospital's excess flu vaccines." He paused for a moment as though catching his breath. "Olivia…" His hands shook as he took Olivia's and squeezed them hard. "Thank you. Thank you."

**Two Weeks Later**

Sunday, April 4, 2010

It was a beautiful, sunny day, the birds all sang and chirped in the blue sky, in the large oak and maple trees in front of the hospital. It had rained heavily two days ago, enough to give much needed water to the ground and plant life. All kinds of wildflowers and carefully landscaped areas began to bloom in the warm sunlight. As bees flitted about, back from the dead of winter, Olivia stepped out of her black SUV and took the last stroll up to Mass General Hospital. Peter was checking out today.

Walter had wanted to come along, but due to some emergency in the lab that Astrid could not handle on her own, he stayed behind while Olivia went by herself to fetch Peter from the hospital.

After her journey to the other side and back, once Walter managed to make a new cure in time to save his dying son, Olivia only came back to the hospital for a brief visit once, about a week ago. She was beyond relieved that Peter was doing better, but the weight of the secret she carried began to weigh heavier with every day that passed. That's why she couldn't bear to visit him more often. Her single visit had been a quick hello and goodbye.

"Thanks for coming," he had said before she left. "It's been lonely here…with only Walter for company, you know." She noticed a familiar flash in his eyes.

Smiling, she only said, "Yeah," and left.

In through the two large front doors of the hospital, past the receptions desk on the left that had the display on the wall behind it, although Walter's face was not burned into the screen in this reality, Olivia walked straight toward the elevators. As she pressed the up button and stepped back to wait, the same mother and daughter pair that she had seen before came to stand next to her. Turning to greet them, Olivia simply smiled and said, "Hello."

The woman, holding on tightly to the little girl's hand, smiled quietly back, a sort of darkness in her eyes. "You were the woman we saw two weeks ago, aren't you? You seemed to be in such a panic…"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Olivia said, embarrassed. She remembered being in a mad dash when she heard about Peter. "I must have frightened you both."

The woman smiled quietly again. "No, it's alright. You seem better now though. How are things?"

"Good. A friend of mine was very sick. We weren't sure he would make it…"

"Oh, how dreadful," the woman said, squeezing the little girl's hand.

"Yeah, but he's better now. Just heading up to check him out, actually."

"After only two weeks? That's amazing. What a blessing, today of all days," the woman said just as the doors to the elevator opened. The woman never saw Olivia's puzzled expression.

After the woman pressed the number 3 button, Olivia reached over and pressed 7. As a way to keep the conversation going, Olivia smiled and asked, "So, what brings you here?"

Right as soon as she completed the question, Olivia wished she would have just kept her mouth shut. The woman again squeezed the little girl's hand and looked down into her little brown eyes behind her crazy black curls. "We're here to say goodbye to Daddy," she said. "He had been fighting cancer for years. It took everything out of him to fight it, but now… This is really a good thing. He can finally rest and find peace now, a world with no pain…"

"Oh, I— I'm so sorry," Olivia felt like an idiot.

"No, please. Don't feel badly. If this world teaches us anything, it's that time is not on our side. We best cherish every moment we are given."

The elevator slowed at the 3rd floor and the woman turned to face Olivia. "I'm glad your friend is better—I hope you make the best of it." Then she looked down at her little girl and smiled that same quiet yet strong smile. "C'mon, Hannah, let's go."

"Bye bye," the girl waved to Olivia and stepped out of the elevator with her mother.

The elevator doors closed and Olivia stood in deep thought with her back resting against the mirror opposite the door. How strong that lady was for her daughter, even when her heart was dying inside. What she said was true, though. _Time is not on our side._ Who knows what might happen tomorrow, or the next day, next week or next month? Anything could happen at any time. All we can do is make sure to live each day like it is our last, before the world shatters—live life to the fullest.

Without another second's deep thought, the elevator doors opened to the 7th floor. Olivia shook those thoughts out of her mind, deciding to only focus on the here and now. She had to put on a straight face even though such confusion was still churning beneath the surface.

Out of the elevator, Olivia went down the hall to the right, stopping short at Room #704, Peter's room. Again pausing before the door, she bit her bottom lip. What would she say when she saw him? Would she see the glimmer, the proof that he is not of this world? What would he say? Would he remem—

Suddenly, the door opened from inside. The curved L-shaped door handle caught on her watch and pulled her inside. She flew at someone inside the room, who managed to catch her from falling.

"Whoa, Olivia! You all right?" Peter said, his hands gripping a shoulder and arm on each side of her.

"Oh, Peter, sorry. I must have been daydreaming."

Still holding her close, Peter tilted his head with a curling smirk on his face. "Daydreaming. In front of my room? You push it to the next level, don't you?"

As though suddenly aware of the closeness between them, Olivia shrugged off his hands and gave him a very 'not amused' look. "Let's just get you out of here," she said hurriedly as she turned away.

"No argument there," he said, following along behind her. He swung a small, black bag over his shoulder. As they approached the nurse's desk, a young woman with the brightest red-orange hair and beaming blue eyes smiled at Peter.

"Ah, Mr. Bishop. Is this really your last day?"

"Thankfully," he said, reaching for the sign-out form, "yes. No offence to anyone. I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for many of you."

"Including your girlfriend, here."

"Oh, no—I'm not—" Olivia said, awkwardly setting the record straight. She was too flustered, she didn't notice Peter looking at her with an amused glance.

The nurse simply smiled, her blue eyes saying, _Ri—ght._ "Well, she really went to a lot of trouble to make sure you stayed with us, or…so I've heard." The nurse leaned over the counter so she could whisper something that only Peter could hear, "You better thank her right."

With a puzzled look on his face, Peter looked up at the nurse who grinned broadly at him. Blinking awkwardly, he turned his attention back to the form in front of him and was about to fill in the date at the top when he drew a blank. Glancing over at Olivia, he asked, "What's the date today?"

"Sunday, April 4th," she said flatly, almost absentmindedly.

Nodding, Peter added the date and signed his name with a few strokes of the blackball-point pen. Then setting the pen down loudly on the counter, he said, "It's been nice, but I hope never to set foot here again."

"So do I, honey," the nurse said, winking. "Take care." As Peter stepped away, the nurse smiled, although her glance lingered on Olivia a bit longer. It was almost as though she was about to say something. Her mouth opened then closed right away like she changed her mind. Instead, she winked at Olivia, too, then turned away with the form Peter had signed.

Stiffly nodding to herself as though saying "alrighty then," Olivia turned to join Peter on the way down the hall toward the elevators. Neither of them spoke on the way down the hall, or even when they were waiting for the elevator, but when they walked into the elevator and the doors closed with only the two of them inside, the tension could have caught fire and exploded like a bomb.

_Just say something!_ Olivia thought, her mind racing to find something to talk about. She was saved when Peter spoke first.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "I know this is the last place you'd like to be on a Sunday."

Olivia shook her head. "It's no problem. You came when I was in the hospital, so—"

"Just a return favor," he said somewhat disappointed that she didn't understand what he wanted to say. He looked into her withdrawn green eyes. There was something missing in those eyes, he noticed; they seemed faintly sad or frightened, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And she continued to fiddle with the car keys in her hands, making a jingling sound echo in the elevator. The sound they made was near maddening, just as much as her equivocal distance. He reached over and subtlety touched her hand.

"What?" Olivia said, trying very hard to seem clueless.

"Olivia, is there something wrong?"

Both fear and concern glimmered in his eyes. Olivia knew she wasn't acting like her usual self these past couple weeks. She knew things would never be quite the same between them, not after knowing his secret, not after his near fatal illness, _not after…_

Breaking the awkward glance between them, Olivia said, "No," but quickly looked back at him. Who was she kidding? He could read her better than anyone. "It's nothing, really." Before she could explain any more, the elevator stopped at ground level, the doors opened. With an expressionless smile, she said, "Let's go."

They walked past the receptions desk when Peter awkwardly slowed his pace, looking up at the screen on the wall. It was showing a display about the newly added hospital staff. The slide of a Catherine Merro, Ph.D. in Environmental Biology, must have struck him as odd for the hospital to advertise. Eventually, he picked up the pace and followed Olivia out of the hospital.

It was a beautiful day, the birds all happily chirping, the sun splashing its warm rays down through a few scattered clouds, and the wind blew just enough to carry the scent of spring daffodils in the air. As they began stepping down the stairs toward the parking lot, Peter slowed again, this time bringing a hand up to his head as though pained by something. Olivia didn't notice until he said, "Olivia, hold up a second."

As she turned around and saw him standing there, his eyes tightly closed, a hand to his head, she thought the worst and rushed toward him, placing a hand on his arm incase he might pass out. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I don't know, it just hit me…"

Looking around the area, Olivia noticed a wooden bench in the middle of a small park just opposite the parking lot. "C'mon, let's sit down for a while," Olivia suggested, leading Peter's faltering steps toward the bench.

The bench, although design-wise looked very old, seemed as though someone had cared very much for it. It was by far the cleanest park bench Olivia had ever seen. Save for an old initial carving on the back, it had absolutely no jagged edges, its surface smoothed out and polished neatly. Helping Peter to sit down first, Olivia sat down on his right, staring at his pallid face.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, better, I guess," he said, resting a hand against his throbbing temple. "Must have been…the bright light all of a sudden."

For a few moments, they both sat without a word, the sound of the morning birds filling the empty space between them. Then as Peter removed his hand from his brow, he sighed faintly and turned to face her.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Olivia, this is going to sound crazy—I mean, it sounds crazy to me, but… While I was out of it, I had a dream. And you were in it."

Olivia heard a bell ring in her head and she sat straight up, looking deeply into Peter's eyes. _He couldn't have…_

Peter continued: "You were looking for a cure for me and you found it, on the other side. But when you got it, it fell from your hand, shattered on the ground and all over you…"

It was exactly as she remembered it, save for the omission of Walternate being a key figure in obtaining the cure. Olivia, however, lost her words and could only sit in silence, listening to Peter's story.

"Then the dream shifted, you were gone, lost somewhere. I tried to find you and eventually I did, but only for a short while before you disappeared again."

She remembered that scene very well. She was floating away, drifting in the sky above the city, and he had found her. In the middle of that dark abyss between worlds he had found her, given her the strength, the courage to make it the rest of the way, even if she had failed her mission.

"But you found me a second time…" Olivia said, finally finding the words as her memory—her joy—of seeing a familiar face in the midst of her swelling fear gushed from her being. For all this time, she had believed it was all a dream… She told herself that's all it was because she feared being let down yet again. But if Peter remembered it, too, then…

"It wasn't a dream," he said, appeased to finally know the truth his heart had known all along. "Olivia, I—"

"—Peter."

"—No, please, let me say this." He took a deep breath. "The craziest things have been happening all around us, even _to_ us. Most of the time I don't know what's going on in my life, like I'm losing control, just being led down a path not of my choosing." He paused to smile affectionately at Olivia, who returned his glowing gaze as her own eyes echoed the anticipation in her heart.

Taking another unsteady breath, he continued. "But you've been there, through it all. And…" He smiled. "I think I've come to think of you as…something more than just a friend who's experienced some of the same things as I have."

Olivia uncomfortably shifted her weight on the bench, not quite sure what she was hearing, not quite sure that this wasn't another one of her dreams.

"Peter, listen," she had a sudden urge to fight the feelings she had inside. As she sat there, she felt butterfly wings fluttering around in her stomach. "You've just gotten through a great ordeal. You need to think of yourself right now, getting your strength back."

As though unwilling to change the topic, Peter reached out and took Olivia's hand in his left. He simply held it tightly in his grip as though hoping she could feel the pounding of his heart through his fingertips and understand the words it was trying to say. "Olivia, do you remember what happened between us?"

Of course she remembered. How could she not? Her eyes flashed brightly and that was all of an answer Peter needed even if she couldn't vocalize one for herself.

With a smile that could have melted even the most ancient ice on the planet, Peter lightly stroked the back of Olivia's hand with his thumb and peered deeply into her eyes. He sighed, thoroughly and completely relieved. "So…do you want to talk about it?"

"Peter, I—" Olivia shook her head.

"No, it's alright, if you're not ready. No pressure, okay?" he smiled. "But you know, that place, it wasn't real," he added with a teasing yet very seriously stricken face. "_This_ is the real world, so technically we haven't kissed at all."

Maybe he wanted to put her rapidly beating heart at ease, but Olivia knew what he was getting at and it made her laugh out loud. He did _not_ intend on kissing her right then and there, in broad daylight no less! Although it was an invigorating thought. Oh, how she felt like the fifth grade!

"Peter Bishop, you just come back from the dead and _that's_ what you're thinking?"

"Aren't you?" he said with a sly grin. What a way to answer a question with a question!

Along with the sweet breeze of the air sweeping against their flushed faces, church bells rang from a small, white church across the street. As they both looked toward the church, they could see little children dressed in fancy Sunday clothes of every pastel color imaginable carrying baskets. Out of the church they ran through the small yard, picking things up off the ground and placing them into the baskets. As they scurried to and from, a few children came running across the street and into the park near them, again picking things up here and there on the ground.

"What day did I say it was?" Olivia said curiously to Peter.

"Sunday. Why?"

Olivia only looked into Peter's unseeing eyes and laughed quietly. "Peter, it's Easter Sunday."

Then, as though seeing with a new perspective, Peter realized the connection Olivia must have made right then, although he was unsure how to react. "Wait, just because I got out of the hospital the same day doesn't mean—"

A little girl with straight blonde hair skipped in front of Peter and Olivia, cheerfully holding out a yellow Easter basket for them to see.

"Look what I found!" she said, interrupting Peter's thought. Her little blue eyes beamed brilliantly as though she had never been happier than in this one, solitary moment. "The Easter Bunny came!" She dug into her basket and took out a package of purple, marshmallow Peeps, holding it out to Olivia. "Here, you can have it. Ma already bought some for me yesterday."

"Aw, thank you," Olivia said, smiling. She couldn't hide her inner child's excitement as she accepted the gift in her one free hand. When the girl quickly frolicked back across the street, Olivia traded innocent glances with Peter and giggled. "I've always loved Easter candy," she admitted.

"Really? I couldn't tell at all," Peter said, sarcastically grinning at her. How beautiful she looked, even in those rare childish moments. When she was happy and it radiated from her like the soft halo of a candle's flame.

With the sun rays beaming down upon them through the trees above, she squeezed Peter's hand. "Well, your father will be expecting us," Olivia said, half seeking escape from this emotionally awkward situation and half wishing to stay here, on this bench, forever.

She was about to stand up when Peter wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, sitting so close to her. He still tenderly held on to her hand. "Can we just…stay like this a little longer…?" he asked without expecting an answer spoken or not.

With the song of spring birds in the air and the sound of children hunting for Easter eggs across the street, Peter and Olivia sat contentedly on the park bench, hoping time would stop, hoping the omniscient loom of the coming war with a parallel universe would just wait long enough for their hearts to synchronize, if even momentarily. One minute melded into fifteen until something began to vibrate within Olivia's suit jacket.

"Sorry," she said and reached into her jacket pocket for her phone. "I have to take this."

"It better not be Walter," he said as he retrieved his arm from around her shoulders.

"Dunham. Ah, Astrid? No, uh… We're just leaving the hospital. No, no. Everything's fine. Yeah. Oh, sure…that won't be a problem. We'll stop there on the way back. Okay, see you soon. Bye."

"What's he want this time?" He knew his father all too well.

Olivia nodded, only slightly bemused. She placed the phone back into her pocket, and said, "A chilly cheese dog from Flamers, apparently."

"Food. I swear, for the amount of time that man thinks of food…"

"Like you're any different," Olivia said, taunting him.

"Don't even—"

"—Like father, like son," she said, a flicker of light flashed across her face.

Peter shook his head and sighed, not amused, "You really enjoy tormenting me, don't you?"

"Maybe just a little," Olivia replied. The smile perched on her delicate face gleamed brightly as the sunlight through the trees danced on her skin. Her hair shone like liquid gold.

"Well, before I get any more grief from you…" Peter said. As he got to his feet, he turned around and offered his hand to Olivia. "Shall we go, my dear?"

Olivia, grinning broadly, looked up at Peter and felt the world around her tingle and buzz with excitement, everything in the background seemed to lose focus. The sunlight peered in through the trees and washed over him like nothing she had ever seen. The light was so golden, it almost twinkled like stardust, and as it touched his softly curling hair in the wind, it turned every strand to gold. His eyes gleamed with such fervor as he looked down at her that all of her illusions about love, all her fear about the future seemed to wither away to nothing.

She took Peter's hand and stood, leaving the little box of Peeps on the bench. "Aren't you forgetting something?" she said, looking up into his eyes.

He crunched up his face for a split second before realizing that she was serious, that maybe she hadn't simply accepted his hand to help her stand, but rather… Again he opened his arms and brought her near, only this time she, too, wrapped her arms around him as she rested her head against his chest.

She meant to tease him a little, but instead the second she felt his warmth wrap around her, all of her childlike playfulness evaporated in an instant. At the sound of Peter's heart in her ear, she felt something inside her fracture.

"Peter, I was so scared…" Olivia said, her eyes beginning to tear up. Her fingers gripped at his back. "I really thought…"

Peter could hear the fear in her voice and he gently caressed her back reassuringly. "Shh, it's alright. It's okay now—I'm fine. Really." He patted her on the back a couple more times before placing his hands on the top of her shoulders to break their embrace enough to look into her saturated eyes. It was almost painful to see her so sad. She was happily smiling just a moment ago, too. "You don't have to worry," he said. Touching the side of her cheek, he wiped a falling tear away with his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

_This isn't good-bye. I promise._

The words he had spoken in that in-between-space echoed clearly in the back of her mind. He had kept his promise then, and she wanted to believe that he would keep this one, too.

"Prove it," she said. "Give me something to believe in, Peter." As though inducing a bit of déjà vu, Olivia closed her eyes as she raised her head ever so slightly.

Not a second passed between her words and his lips. Again Peter cradled her head fondly as his other arm supported her from behind. Time and space disappeared as they held each other, their lips tingling in a sensuous kiss. Nothing else mattered, nothing else seemed as genuine, this real. The broken pieces of her past mixed and matched with the shattered fragments of his life to complete a totally new and whole masterpiece together.

Although children were running to and fro, a few coming close to gawk and sing that "K-I-S-S-I-N-G" song at them, Peter and Olivia were oblivious to the world around them. They never noticed how the wind blew through the trees and scattered old leaves from last fall along the ground at their feet. They never noticed how the birds around them sang in tune with the beating of their hearts. And they never noticed the single purple butterfly land on the bench beside them, flapping its wings as though it knew all there was and would be, as though knowing how long it had taken them and how much it had cost to get to this point. There would be no turning back, no redo's in this life, and yet it knew—they knew—there would be no need. This was all they ever needed.


End file.
